The 

Merchant  Prince  of  Cornville 


A  COMEDY 


BY   SAMUEL   EBERLY    GROSS 


Represented  in  LONDON,  ENGLAND,  at  the  NOVELTY  THEATER, 
on  November  //,  1896. 


Chicago 
R.  R.  Donnelley  &  Sons  Company 


Copyright  1896 

By  Samuel  Eberly  Gross 

All  rights  reserved 


Copyrighted  in  England,  I  896 


The  Merchant  Prince  of  Cornville 
A  co MED  r 


The  Merchant  Prince  of  Cornville. 

A  Comedy. 

THE  CHARACTERS. 

WHETSTONE The  Merchant  Prince t  suitor  to  Violet. 

BLUEGRASS His  secretary. 

SCYTHE A  scientist. 

IDEAL A  poet,  suitor  to  Violet. 

NORTHLAKE A  philosopher. 

FOPDOODLE A  fop,  suitor  to  Violet. 

TOM His  valet. 

PUNCH A  miscellaneous  person. 

JACK Son  to  Northlake  and  Catharine. 

POMPEY A  butler. 

HANNIBAL A  servant. 

VIOLET Niece  and  ward  to  Northlake. 

NINON Her  maid. 

CATHARINE Former  wife  to  Northlake. 

SUSAN Housekeeper  to  Whetstone. 

Maskers,  Musicians,  etc. 

PLACE  .   .   .    The  Seaside. 

TIME    .  .   .    The  Last  Quarter  of  the  Nineteenth  Century. 


SYNOPSIS   OF   SCENERY   AND   INCIDENTS. 

ACT  I. 

SCENE    L    An  orchard  by  the  sea.     Sunrise.      The  pursuit  and  discovery. 
II.    A  pavilion,  vjith  vienu  of  the  sea.     The  arrival  of  the  Mer- 
chant Prince. 

ACT  II. 

SCENE    I.  On  the  seashore.     Business,  science,  and  romance. 

II.  Portico  of  the  Dolphin  Inn.      A  speculation  in  love. 

III.  A  costumer^s  shop.     A  study  in  characters. 

IV.  A  street.      The  fop  and  the  ape. 

V.    A  boudoir.      Before  the  masquerade. 

ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.    A  masquerade.     Assembly  of  the  maskers. 

II.  A  balcony.      The  lover  in  armor. 

III.  The  same.     A  minor  love  affair. 

IV.  The  same.     Hearts  unmasked. 

ACT  IV. 

SCENE    I.    A  room  at  the  Dolphin  Inn.      The  hour  before  the  combat. 
II.    A  clearing  in  a  wood.     The  literary  duel. 

III.  The  Glen  of  Ferns.     Love's  high  noon. 

ACT  V. 

SCENE   I.    A  room  at  the  Dolphin  Inn.     A  prelude  to  a  serenade. 
II.    A  hall  in  a  villa.     A  speculation  in  stocks. 
III.    A  lavjn  before  a  villa.      The  serenade  and  finale. 


The  Merchant  Prince  of  Cornville. 

A   COMEDY. 

Act  the  First. 

SCENE  I.  —  An  orchard  by  the  sea.     Sunrise.     Birds  singing. 
Enter  IDEAL. 

IDEAL. 

The  hour  of  dawn  !  — how  thrilling  and  intense! 
The  matin  songs  of  birds,  that  dart  and  soar 
On  quivering  wings,  now  break  upon  the  sense 
As  sharply  as  the  cannon's  voice  at  mid-day  ; 
In  yonder  wood  that  guards  the  sea-cliff's  wall, 
Where  sullen  shadows  shrink  away  and  flee 
Before  the  rising  sun's  advancing  spears, 
The  day-detesting  owl  hath  turned  his  back 
Unto  the  light,  and  sought  the  sheltering  cowl 
Of  ivy  web  about  the  oak-tree  thrown; 
And  all  the  glowing  world, —  wood,  sea,  and  sky, — 
Is  most  sublimely  beautiful  beneath 
This  pendulous  light,  that,  like  an  avalanche 
Of  golden  beams  .  .  .      But  I  have  spoken  the  word 
That  halts  my  fancy's  flight,  and  brings  me  back 
To  earth  and  its  dull  cares,  and  our  dull  age, — 

9 


The  Merchant  Prince 

Our  golden  age  't  is  called  :  our  age  of  gold, 
Hard  and  material,  when  our  best  ideals 
But  folly  seem,  all  things  are  bought  and  sold, 
And  even  love  itself  is  merchandise. 
Alas !  the  many  years  that  I  have  known, 
And  many  ills,  in  this  same  golden  age, 
Have  brought  their  bitter  harvest  to  my  breast, 
Like  frozen  grain  beaten  by  winds  unkind 
From  out  the  icy  north  ;  but  as  those  seeds 
Fall  sterile  on  the  earth,  nor  glow  with  life, 
So  shall  my  sorrows  take  no  living  root 
Within  my  bosom.  .  .  .  Now  do  I  recall, 
Like  a  sweet  picture  in  a  gallery  hung, 
How  I  last  eve  at  early  twilight  watched 
The  figure  of  a  lovely  maiden  bending 
Tenderly  o'er  a  vase  of  new-blown  flowers, 
Upon  a  breezy  terrace,  underneath 
A  green-hued  lattice-work,  that,  like  a  shield 
Embossed  with  morning-glories,  hides  and  guards 
Her  chamber  window.     Passing  there  this  morn, 
I  looked  upon  the  flowers  as  one  might 
Who,  barred  from  out  the  walls  of  Paradise, 
Would  seize  some  blossom  growing  sweetly  there  ; 
Then,  while  my  eager  heart  tumultuous  beat, 
Sending  the  tell-tale  blushes  to  my  cheek, 
I  plucked  a  flower  —  this  crimson,  perfumed  pink. 
'T  is  woven  from  a  clod  of  earth,  and  yet 
To  me  'tis  fairer  than  a  star  of  heaven. 
Sweet  flower  !  sweet  flower !  last  evening  I  did  see 

10 


of  Cornville. 

Thy  mistress  from  her  chamber  casement  lean 

And  gaze  ecstatic  on  the  pilgrim  moon 

Tracing  a  silvery  path  along  the  sky  ; 

But  thou  didst  woo  her  from  that  magic  gaze, 

Drawing  her  to  thee  with  the  subtler  force 

Of  finer  particles  than  live  within 

The  cold  moon's  slanting  beams.  .  .  . 

But  soft !  yonder  my  lady's  self  appears, 

Slow  moving  down  the  orchard  path.     I  '11  seek 

A  covert  by  this  tree.     Seeing  the  hunter 

Doth  fright  the  deer  away. 

\He  bides  behind  an  orchard  tree. 

Enter  VIOLET. 

VIOLET. 
Which  way  's  the  robber  gone  ?  I  'm  sure  I  saw  him  here. 

IDEAL  [aside]. 

What !  I  'm  a  robber,  am  I  ?  Well,  this  tree  hath  no  tell- 
tale bark,  and  I  '11  stay  here. 

VIOLET. 

I  thought  I  heard  some  one  speak,  but  not  from  under- 
ground, for  he's  not  a  goblin  ;  nor  yet  from  the  sky,  for 
he  's  not  an  angel ;  nor  yet  from  the  earth,  for  no  dreadful 
man  is  near.  Why,  what  is  that  in  the  sky  ?  'T  is  last  eve's 
moon,  that  will  not  to  her  couch  by  day.  To  rest !  pale 
planet.  O  gentle  moon,  where  is  thy  blush  ?  Thou  art 

II 


The  Merchant  Prince 

dismantled  by  the  roseate  sun.     Alack  !  what  divine  dramas 
are  there  in  the  skies  ! 

Oh,  would  that  I  within  thy  circlet's  rim 

Might  glide  by  curves  of  brightening  lawns.     In  thee 

The  day  is  half  a  month  till  noon,  and  thoughts 

Are  gentle  as  the  velvet  fawns  that  glide 

From  out  thy  rustling  groves.     In  thee,  rare  flowers 

Their  fragrant  balms  distil,  and  perfume  wreathes 

The  girdling  hours.     Let  me  fancy  this  ! 

IDEAL. 

Now  doth  she  see  her  fragile  fancies  rise  on  wings  of 
gossamer,  like  one  who  chases  golden  butterflies,  flying  before 
the  dawn.  What  sweet  mysterious  alchemy  could  beauty 
such  as  hers  persuade  ! 

VIOLET. 

But  list;  what's  this?  A  spirit  in  the  tree,  —  a  talking 
spirit,  too  !  I  '11  listen  ;  't  is  my  privilege  in  this  orchard. 
Go  on,  sweet  spirit,  I  'm  listening.  [Pauses."]  Nay,  go  on, 
my  time  is  brief;  or  if  thou  'dst  rather,  I  '11  not  overhear. 

IDEAL. 

Nay,  hear,  sweet  maid ;  I  'm  fated  in  this  tree  to  dwell, 
and  ne'er  before  so  spoke  my  heart  unto  a  maid. 

VIOLET. 

Canst  thou  not  speak  in  rhymes  ?     Why,  spirits  should 

12 


of  Cornville. 

be  poets  too ;  or  is  the  tree's  rind  too  hard  ?     I  do  pity  thee 
for  a  poor  spirit. 

IDEAL. 

Nay,  hear  me.  When  the  tree  is  in  its  blossom,  then 
rhymes  come  fleetest ;  when  the  tree  is  in  its  fruitage,  then 
rhymes  come  sweetest.  Thou  once,  on  such  a  time,  didst 
sit  beneath  these  ripening  boughs,  in  sweetest  reverie  wrapt, 
and  I,  while  musing  on  thy  beauty  and  the  gentle  spirit 
within  thee,  didst  weave  these  rhymes. 

VIOLET. 

I  well  remember  it;  and  if  thou  art  a  truthful  spirit  I  will 
listen  to  thy  rhymes.  Thou  mayst  begin. 

IDEAL. 

What  pure  mysterious  alchemy 

Doth  beauty  chaste  as  thine  persuade 

To  sublimate  its  crude  degree 

In  sweetest  herbs  of  earth  displayed  ! 

VIOLET. 

Stop,  stop  ;  I  command  thee  !  Thou  art  much  too  philo- 
sophical for  a  poet.  I  'm  weary. 

IDEAL. 

Thou  didst  halt  me  in  the  middle  of  my  verse. 
For  I  philosophy  discern 

In  quivering  lips,  in  liquid  eyes, 
In  rounded  neck,  and  cheeks  that  burn 
Like  rose-leaves  'neath  the  radiant  skies  i 

13 


The  Merchant  Prince 

In  hair  as  golden  as  the  sun 

That  wreathes  the  circling  grove,  and  seems 
As  fine  and  delicately  spun 

As  if  't  were  woven  of  his  beams. 

VIOLET. 

Thou  'rt  much  too  flattering  for  a  spirit.  Thou  art  not 
a  cold  spirit,  but  a  warm  one.  Good  spirits  should  be  cold. 
Mend  thy  rhymes,  or  I  will  leave  thee  in  thy  prison. 


IDEAL 
I  '11  learn  if  she  beheld  my  robbery  this  morn. 

\_Aloud^\    Didst  thou  awake? 
Didst  thou  awake  ? 

That  hour  when  moonbeams  glide  away 
'Neath  limpid  tints  of  twinkling  day, 
When  from  the  wires  of  its  cage, 

That  string  between  from  bar  to  bar, 
Thy  prisoned  bird,  in  tuneful  rage, 

Awoke  unto  the  morning  star, 
And  sang  unto  the  woodland  wild 

That  hides  the  sun  beyond  the  hills, 
And  hides,  in  wavy  foliage  isled, 
The  breezy  nest  of  cooing  bills  ? 
Didst  thou  awake  ? 
Didst  thou  awake  ? 

VIOLET. 

Why,  that  sounds  like  a  morning  serenade.     Now  indeed 

14 


of  Cornville. 

do  I  know  thee  for  a  spirit  of  light-tripping  gayety ;  but 
I  Ml  answer  no  questions.  I  was  wakened  by  a  robber  who 
from  my  chamber-window  plucked  my  favorite  flower. 
Spirits  should  know  all  things,  and  not  be  so  inquisitive  for 

ladies'  secrets. 

IDEAL. 

Give  me  the  wings  of  yonder  lark, 

Soaring  into  the  perfumed  dawn, 
Beyond  the  chimney's  beckoning  spark 

That,  blackening,  strews  the  beaten  lawn. 

For  I,  within  this  tree  immured, 
With  fervent  glances  scan  the  ships 

That  sail  and  sail  until,  obscured, 
The  ivory  fleet  the  ocean  dips  ; 

While  swarms  of  white-winged  memories, 

Like  missive-bearing  doves,  arise 
From  out  the  pure  pellucid  seas, 

And  float  above  these  orchard  skies. 

VIOLET. 

Why,  what  pretty  fruit  that  tree  doth  bear !  I  have  a 
mind,  but,  alas  !  not  the  heart,  to  leave  thee  in  thy  tree,  to 
rhyme  to  me  some  other  day.  Art  done  ?  No  answer. 
Then  I  '11  rhyme,  too.  Spirit,  thy  art 's  infectious. 

Move  slow,  thou  circlet  of  the  moon, 

Turn  not  to  zones  thy  brightening  lawns ; 

Let  day  be  half  a  month  till  noon  ; 

Wake  not  with  light  thy  distant  dawns. 

But,  fie,  why  doth  the  genial  sun  make  the  moon  so  pale  ? 
I  would  not  turn  so  pale  were  a  man  to  appear  in  this  orchard. 

'5 


The  Merchant  Prince 

[Pauses.~\  Sweet  spirit,  appear,  appear  !  No  answer.  Hast 
lost  thy  speech,  or  doth  the  tree's  bark  encompass  thee  too 
closely  ?  If  thou  art  in  the  trunk  of  this  fair  tree,  I  '11 
petition  it  with  ardent  lips  to  ope  its  close-bound  rind  and 
let  thee  out ;  but  how  ?  The  tree  cannot  hear,  being  deaf, 
but  the  tree  can  feel,  being  alive;  so  then,  I  '11  kiss  thee,  thou 
hard,  hard  tree.  \Bends  to  kiss  the  tree,  when  IDEAL  appears 
and  kisses  berJ]  What  spirit  art  thou  in  man's  disguise  to 
thus  affright  a  lady  who  ne'er  did  harm  to  thee,  but  wished 
thee  well  ?  How  couldst  thou  treat  me  so  ? 

IDEAL. 

Fair  maid,  thou  fill'st  me  with  such  keen  delight  I  know 
not  what  to  say,  but  pause  for  utterance,  my  lips  being 
newly  laden  with  a  sweet  burden. 

VIOLET. 

Nay,  not  so.  Thou  art  too  literal.  I  do  entreat  thee 
for  an  answer. 

IDEAL. 

Thou  art  the  most  fair  complainant  that  e'er  did  sue  for 
answer,  and  in  a  just  cause,  too.  How  could  the  earth  resist 
the  sun?  How  could  the  sea  resist  the  tide?  How  could 
a  spirit  resist  heaven  ? 

VIOLET. 

I  thought  thou  wert  a  spirit  who  'd  been  in  heaven  long 
ago. 

IDEAL. 

Never  before  did  I  even  dream  of  heaven ;  and  for 
material  answer  make  I  this  :  Our  spirits  were  kindred,  and 
by  that  fair  relationship  I  did  salute  thee  so. 

16 


of  Cornville. 

VIOLET. 

Now  do  I  know  thee  :  thou  art  no  spirit,  but  a  robber,  — 
a  substantial  robber  who  plucked  my  favorite  pink  from 
my  window  ;  but  I,  rising  in  quick  haste,  followed  thee 
adown  this  orchard  path.  Thou  thought's!  thou  hadst 
escaped  me.  I  did  see  thee  but  half  plainly,  by  the  dawn's 
most  timorous  light  that  through  the  lattice  wooed  my 

pillow. 

IDEAL. 

As  thou  didst  wake  !  Oh,  would  I  were  the  dawn's  most 
delicate  light  that  wooed  thy  soul's  fair  stars  exiled  within 
thy  crescent-curtained  eyes ! 

VIOLET. 

And  if  thou  wert,  thou  wert  but  a  robber  still.  Thou 
hast  the  flower  in  thy  hand ! 

IDEAL. 

Oh,  I  have  treasured  it ;  yet  will  I  return  to  thee  the  pink. 
'Tis  thy  property. 

VIOLET. 

Nay,  keep  the  flower,  if  thou  lovest  it  so. 

IDEAL. 

Ay,  then  I  '11  think  it  had  its  birth  'neath  twilight's  violet 

sky. 

VIOLET. 

Think  not  too  lightly  of  the  flower;  'tis  most  rare, — 
grown  from  a  seed  found  in  the  tomb  of  an  Egyptian 

17 


The  Merchant  Prince 

mummy.  She  was  an  ancient  princess  who  died  in  the 
flower  of  her  youth  from  love  ill  requited :  so  read  the 
antique  parchment  entombed  with  her,  —  a  legend  pitiful 
and  true  ;  but  then,  't  was  three  thousand  years  ago. 

IDEAL. 
Love  has  grown  more  constant  since  then. 

VIOLET. 
I  hope  thou  wouldst  not  jest  at  love  ? 

IDEAL. 

Nay,  not  I.  I  'd  sooner  jest  at  all  fair  properties  in 
heaven  and  earth  than  jest  at  love. 

VIOLET. 

'Tis  a  flower  of  ancient  lineage.  I  planted  it  with  mine 
own  hands,  and  watched  it  grow.  What  joy  I  felt  to  see  it 
grow,  I  ne'er  can  tell.  When  first  its  tender  bud  beseeched 
the  sky,  it  was  athirst ;  I  brought  it  water  from  a  crystal 
spring.  From  simple  bud  to  leafy  stalk  it  grew,  and  then 
the  petals  formed,  giving  sweet  promise  of  a  flower  ;  till 
yesternight  from  its  green  husk  the  perfect  blossom  bloomed, 
and  I  did  shed  a  tear  upon  it,  thinking  of  that  poor  princess. 

IDEAL. 

Dost  think  her  spirit  lives  in  heaven  ? 

18 


of  Cornville. 

VIOLET. 

That  do  I  most  truly.  I  would  not  that  thou  thought's! 
differently.  Thou  couldst  not  be  so  cruel ! 

IDEAL. 

Thy  simple  story  moves  me  beyond  the  power  of  prayer. 
Now  that  the  flower  buried  with  her  doth  live,  let  it  be- 
queath a  legacy  of  love  most  true  and  constant  to  our 
hearts  ;  so  shall  the  princess  from  beyond  see  within  our 
lives  a  perfect  love  wrought  by  her  most  heavenly  agency. 
And  here  [kneeling],  on  bended  knee,  by  thy  dear  hand  that 's 
clasped  in  mine,  I  vow,  by  all  the  subtle  bonds  that  nature 
placed  within  the  world  to  bind  us  to  the  truth,  to  love 
thee  ever. 

VIOLET. 

Rise  ;  thou  art  the  planet  of  my  maiden  firmament.  I  do 
believe  thee.  My  vow  is  linked  with  thine  most  sweetly 
and  inseparably. 

IDEAL. 

Thy  words  are  bright  flowers,  whose  subtle  sweets  I  do 
extract  and  hide  away.  Ay,  I  shall  live  on  them  when  thou 
art  absent,  as  the  patient  bee  lives  on  his  hoarded  store 
in  winter. 

VIOLET. 

I  hope  thou  speakest  truly  as  thou  dost  fairly,  for  thou 
speakest  as  a  poet  doth,  and  I  have  heard,  —  but  pardon  me ; 
I  '11  not  quote  the  idle  gossip. 

IDEAL. 
I  pray  thee,  do. 

'9 


The  Merchant  Prince 

VIOLET. 

Well,  then,  to  heed  thy  prayer.  I  've  heard  it  rumored 
that  poets,  in  their  grammar,  all  the  moods  of  love  do 
conjugate  in  swift  succession. 

IDEAL. 
I  '11  prove  to  thee  that  gossip  is  untrue. 

VIOLET. 

I  Ve  heard  that  they  are  variable  ;  that  they  contract  the 
four  seasons  imo  the  compass  of  a  day, — call  the  morning 
spring,  the  forenoon  summer,  the  afternoon  autumn,  and  the 
evening  oft  the  depth  of  winter ;  that  they  in  idle  ways 
say  thus:  Why,  prithee,  this  forenoon,  being  in  love  be- 
neath the  equator,  I  felt  the  fervent  sun  impart  his  fever 
to  the  earth  ;  but  to-night,  alack !  being  out  of  love,  Lap- 
land hath  no  denizen  colder  than  I.  I  pray  thou  wilt  not 

treat  me  so. 

IDEAL. 

By  Heaven,  'tis  a  scandal !  I  'd  have  thee  try  me.  Use 
pique,  jest,  coldness,  stratagem,  and  all  the  dire  weapons  in 
a  maid's  armory  to  try  her  lover,  and  if,  knowing  thou  art 
true,  I  do  not  in  all  love's  humors  love  thee  still,  why 

then  — 

VIOLET. 
Yes,  why  then  — 

IDEAL. 

Why,  then,  I  '11  return  to  dust. 

20 


of  Cornville. 

VIOLET. 
Alack  !  that  would  be  unkind. 

IDEAL. 

Nay,  try  me. 

VIOLET. 

Perchance  I  may.  \_Aside\  But  only  for  a  moment. 
\_Aloud\  How  high  *s  the  sun,  pray  ? 

IDEAL  \looking  at  his  watch']. 

I'll  be  precise,  and  timely  guard  my  answer.  'Tis  nigh 
unto  five  o'clock ;  the  minute-hand  lacks  one,  the  second- 
hand— 

VIOLET. 

Stop,  stop  !  thou  outspeedest  Time  himself.  How  desper- 
ately thou  rushest  from  the  hour  to  the  minute  hand  —  from 
thence  there  is  but  a  fraction  of  time  to  the  second  hand, 
which  I  take  to  be  not  a  good  token  ;  for  thou  hadst  but  a 
minute  ago  my  hand,  and  yet  thus  swiftly  thou  wouldst 
approach  a  second  hand. 

IDEAL. 
Shall  we  have  no  watches  with  second  hands  ? 

VIOLET. 

I  '11  have  no  merchandising.  Thou  a  poet  and  a  lover, 
and  lookest  at  thy  watch  to  tell  the  sun's  height !  Alas  ! 
put  up  thy  watch ;  lovers  do  not  time  themselves  by 
watches.  Thou  wouldst  not  so  at  night  register  the  moon's 

21 


The  Merchant  Prince 

height ;  but  upon  a  pressing  question,  How  high 's  the  moon  ? 
wouldst  answer,  A  little  higher  than  yonder  rose-bush,  if 
the  moon  rose  late ;  or,  perchance,  A  little  higher  than 
yonder  tree-top,  if  the  moon  rose  early.  The  sun  's  as  fine 
to  me  by  day  as  the  moon  by  night.  Poetry  doth  not  steal 
away  at  dawn  of  day.  But  thou  must  go  ;  good-by  for  a 
moment.  \Looks  up  the  orchard  patb.~\  Nay,  good-by  for  all 
day,  for  I  do  spy  my  guardian  uncle. 

IDEAL. 

Dreams  do  not  end  but  oft  begin  at  dawn.  Give  me 
leave  to  walk  with  thee  at  midday  in  the  Glen  of  Ferns. 

VIOLET. 

High  noon  must  be  high  dream-time  when  poets  love. 
Await  me  there  to-morrow. 

IDEAL. 

High  noon  will  brighter  grow  when  thou  dost  come. 

[Exit  IDEAL. 
VIOLET. 

As  fair  spoken  a  robbery  as  e'er  the  sun  shone  upon.  A 
fair  and  gallant  robber,  too,  who  robs  me  of  my  heart  in 
broad  daylight,  detected  in  the  very  act  by  his  own  watch. 
I  made  the  robber  tell  the  hour  and  minute,  so  that  in  any 
court  no  cruel  alibi  could  lie.  I  'm  fain  to  think  I  '11  ne'er 
again  detect  so  fine  a  robber.  Who  's  he  ?  What 's  he  ? 
I  know  not,  I  care  not.  I  would  not  ask  that  question 
rude  and  mercenary.  I  do  but  know  he  's  the  most  gentle 

22 


of  Cornville. 

gentleman  I  e'er  did  meet.     Oh,  if  this  be  love,  't  is  very 
kind  and  sweet  ! 

NORTHLAKE  [afar  in  the  orchard^  calls}. 
Violet  ! 

VIOLET. 

'T  is  very  strange,  for  I  have  heard  in  sundry  rhymes,  and 
good  rhymes  too,  that  moonlit  eves  were  the  only  seasons 
suited  for  robberies  so  thinly  veiled  as  this.  Why,  my  own 
heart  doth  beat  as  if  there  were  two  hearts  within,  and  I 
had  gained  another  rather  than  lost  my  own.  How  can  it 
be?  But  gently,  —  I'll  not  argue  the  question  ;  'tis  much 
too  deep  and  sweet  for  idle  questioning.  Sweet  argument, 
wait  for  my  uncle. 

NORTHLAKE  \afar,  calls'], 
Violet  ! 

VIOLET. 

Why,  I  forgot  to  ask  his  name  !  I  could  not  call  him  did 
I  wish  to,  and  I  might  wish,  being  affrighted.  Yet  he  shall 
not  want  so  simple  a  matter  ;  I  '11  give  him  a  name.  I  '11 
call  him  \commandingly]  Oliver  !  \_Entr  eatmgly~\  Oliver  ! 
thy  Violet  calls  thee.  \_Indi  jferently\  Oliver!  I  do  not  like 
the  name,  't  is  too  round. 


NORTHLAKE 
What,  ho,  Violet! 

VIOLET. 

I'll  call  him  Peter.     What,  ho  \_piquantly~\^  Peter!    'Tis 
too  piercing  ;  I  '11  none  of  it.     Let  me  think  :  I  '11  call  him 

23 


The  Merchant  Prince 

[slowly~\  Daniel  !     Dost  hear  me  \lnquiringly  j/ozt>],  Daniel? 
I  like  it  no  better  than  the  first.     'T  is  too  long. 

NORTHLAKE  [nearer]. 
Where  art  thou,  Violet  ? 

VIOLET. 

I'll  call  him  —  yes,  I'll  call  him  Joseph.  [Tenderly~\ 
Joseph  !  wilt  thou  not  come  ?  Thy  Violet  calls  thee.  No, 
no,  't  is  a  mistake  ;  I  '11  not  call  him  Joseph,  —  't  is  too,  too 
flat.  I  '11  call  him  —  let  me  see  —  I  '11  call  him  a  name  borne 
by  none  other,  oft  dreamed  by  me,  but  never  met  until  this 
morn.  I  '11  call  him  my  Ideal,  my  dear,  dear  Ideal. 

NORTHLAKE  [very  near"]. 

Violet !  Where  can  the  maiden  be  ?  [Enter  NORTH- 
LAKE.]  I  surely  saw  her  going  down  the  orchard  path. 
[Discovers  VIOLET.]  Why,  there  thou  art !  Why  didst 
thou  not  answer  me  ? 

VIOLET. 
Didst  thou  call  me  ? 

NORTHLAKE. 

Did  I  call  thee  ?  Why,  if  I  called  once,  I  called  thee 
twenty  times.  I  'm  almost  hoarse  with  calling.  Why  art 
thou  out  at  break  of  day  ?  One  might  almost  think  thou 
wast  in  love,  to  rise  so  early. 

24 


of  Cornville. 

VIOLET  [aside]. 
That  am  I. 

NORTHLAKE. 

Thy  lover  comes  to-day. 

VIOLET  [aside], 
I  wonder  if  he  knows  ! 

NORTHLAKE. 
He  's  rich,  a  thorough  business  man  and  solid  gentleman. 

VIOLET. 
I  don't  like  solid  gentlemen.     Who  is  he  ? 

NORTHLAKE. 

A  princely  merchant  in  the  West,  and  owner  of  banks, 
mills,  stores,  houses,  and  lands.  Thou  shalt  have  a  list  of 
it  all  made  for  thee  on  satin.  Profits  of  business  are  five 
hundred  thousand  a  year.  Think  of  it!  thy  wedding-dresses 
of  white  satin  ! 

VIOLET  [abstractedly']. 

Shall  I  have  five  hundred  thousand  dresses  of  white  satin 
a  year? 

NORTHLAKE. 

No,  no;  thou  hast  mixed  the  profits  of  the  business  with 
the  number  of  dresses. 

25 


The  Merchant  Prince 

VIOLET. 

Are  the  profits  of  the  business  five  hundred  thousand 
white  satin  dresses  a  year  ? 

NORTHLAKE. 

Stop,  now ;  this  shall  all  be  explained  after  thou  art 
married. 

VIOLET. 

But  I'll  have  it  explained  before  I'm  married. 

NORTHLAKE. 

Be  patient,  Violet.  He  will  woo  thee  properly,  and 
explain  all  things.  I  am  to  meet  him  at  the  Dolphin  Inn 
to-day.  He  '11  be  in  a  very  good  humor  at  my  account  of 
thee. 

VIOLET. 

I  'm  well  enough  without  his  good  humor.  Pray,  what 's 
his  name  ? 

NORTHLAKE. 

A  merchant  prince,  the  Honorable  Hercules  Whetstone, 
Mayor  of  Cornville. 

VIOLET  [laughing]. 

What  a  name  !  Ha !  ha  !  Couldst  thou  not  add  something 
to  it  ?  'T  is  too  short. 

NORTHLAKE. 

Thou  wilt  be  added  to  it. 

26 


of  Cornville. 

VIOLET. 
That  will  I  not  be. 

NORTHLAKE. 

What 's  this,  —  rebellion  ?      Who 's   been   here  ?      Hast 
thou  seen  any  one  in  this  orchard  ? 

VIOLET. 
No  one  but  my  Ideal. 

NORTHLAKE. 
That 's  too  insubstantial. 

VIOLET. 
More  substantial  than  thou  dreamest. 

NORTHLAKE. 

I  'd  think  thou  wast  bewitched  by  love,  did  I  not  know 
thou  never  hadst  a  lover. 

VIOLET. 

That  was   true    yesterday ;    but   to-day !      [Sighing]   Ah, 
well-a-day  ! 

NORTHLAKE. 

Thou  speakest  truly.     Thou  hast  a  lover  now,  and  before 
the  night  passes  thou  shalt  see  him. 

VIOLET. 

Shall  I  ? 

27 


The  Merchant  Prince 

NORTHLAKE. 

He  '11  be  weary  from  his  travels,  and  to-day,  no  doubt, 
will  require  rest;  but  he'll  meet  thee  to-night  at  the  masked 
ball.  Come,  then,  to  the  villa,  so  that  to-night  thou  mayst 
appear  refreshed. 

VIOLET. 
I  'm  not  weary.     Oh,  that  sweet,  sweet  tree  ! 

NORTHLAKE. 
Why,  what 's  in  that  tree  ?     'T  is  but  an  orchard  tree. 

VIOLET. 
I  '11  wager  thee,  't  will  bear  sweet  fruit. 

NORTHLAKE. 
Why,  what  a  fever  thou  art  in ! 

VIOLET. 

I  'm  not  in  a  fever.  A  child  that  never  ventured  in  the 
fields  may  know  a  blossom  when  it  sees  it. 

NORTHLAKE. 

Come,  thy  maid,  Ninon,  has  risen,  and  awaits  thee. 
Thy  feet  are  damp  with  morning  dew  from  the  grass. 

28 


of  Cornville. 

VIOLET. 
The  dew  of  love  is  in  my  heart ;  and  that 's  not  damp. 

NORTHLAKE. 

This  comes  of  teaching  thee,  from  childhood,  philosophy 
in  my  melancholy  moods.  I  '11  never  again  teach  thee 
philosophy,  though  I  be  as  melancholy  as  Democritus,  since 
thou  dost  use  the  philosophy  I  teach  thee  against  thine  uncle 
and  teacher,  instead  of  against  the  world. 

VIOLET. 

For  the  good  philosophy  thou  didst  teach  me,  I  '11  love 
thee  all  my  days.  But,  uncle,  is  this  marriage  good?  'Twere 
not  good,  't  were  not  philosophical. 

NORTHLAKE. 

Alas,  dear  Violet  !  \_As\di\  If  she  but  knew  !  [Aloud] 
I  cannot  give  thee  thy  dues  except  by  this  marriage.  Thou 
wast  my  favorite  sister's  only  child  ;  and  when  she  left  thee 
and  thy  fortune  to  my  guardianship,  I  promised  to  protect 
thy  fortune,  and  watch  over  thee  even  as  my  own  daughter. 
Now  I  will  get  thee  a  good  husband  ;  for  he  's  rich,  and  a 
solid  gentleman. 

VIOLET. 

Who  's  a  solid  gentleman  ? 

NORTHLAKE. 

Why,  the  Honorable  Hercules  Whetstone. 

29 


The  Merchant  Prince 

VIOLET. 
Oh,  puzzle  thy  Whetstone  ! 

NORTHLAKE. 

I  fear  thou  'It  puzzle  him,  Violet.  But  never  mind  ; 
come,  come  now. 

VIOLET. 
Oh,  thou  sweet  tree  ;  I  cannot  leave  thee ! 

NORTHLAKE. 

Why,  there  must  be  some  witchery  in  that  tree  !  I  '11 
have  it  cut  down  and  burnt. 

VIOLET. 

Nay,  good  uncle,  thou  wouldst  not  have  the  tree  cut 
down.  'Tis  a  good  and  thrifty  tree  that  never  did  harm  to 
any  one,  and  therefore  I  love  the  tree.  [Takes  bis  arm.] 
Dear  uncle,  do  not  cut  it  down.  Thou  art  a  good,  dear 
uncle,  and  I  will  go  with  thee ;  and  thou  wilt  let  the  tree 
live. 

NORTHLAKE  \_ going]. 

Well,  then,  come,  come  !     I  '11  let  the  tree  live. 

[Exeunt, 


3° 


of  Cornville. 

SCENE  II.  —  d  pavilion,  with  view  of  the  sea.     Forenoon. 

Enter  WHETSTONE,  BLUEGRASS,  and  SCYTHE. 

SCYTHE. 

Who  knows  but,  in  the  chemistry  of  Heaven,  we,  this 
noble  race  of  men,  are  but  parasites  feeding  in  space  upon 
a  crust  of  earth  encompassing  a  fiery  particle  ! 

BLUEGRASS. 

What  a  glorious  thing  is  one  of  our  ordinary  mundane 
cycles  of  time  !  'Tis  only  a  day  ;  and  yet  it  is  a  legacy  too 
great  for  the  richest  man  to  put  in  his  will.  Let  no  one 
be  so  brazen  as  to  attempt  to  belittle  this  magnificent  star 
of  ours. 

WHETSTONE. 
Hold !     Professor  Scythe,  is  that  the  so-called  sea  ? 

SCYTHE  [examining  it  with  his  glass], 

Yonder  liquid  and  corrugated  mass  is  the  rumpled  out- 
skirts of  the  sea.  In  our  scientific  formula,  it  is  the  correla- 
tion of  a  mighty  power. 

WHETSTONE  [taking  glass  and  examining] . 
I  can  believe  you. 

31 


The  Merchant  Prince 

BLUEGRASS. 

Hercules  Whetstone,  patron  of  the  arts  and  sciences, 
founder  and  president  of  the  Cornville  Academy  as  a  pay- 
ing investment,  and  nourisher  of  its  infant  civilization,  pro- 
prietor of  the  Cornville  Eagle  — 

WHETSTONE. 

One  moment,  Major  Bluegrass :  that  will  do  for  the 
home  market,  but  not  among  strangers.  I  've  given  you 
both  a  summer  vacation,  so  that  you  may  enjoy  yourselves, 
and  work  harder  when  you  return.  Now,  look  around, 
store  up  knowledge,  and  —  I  won't  deduct  the  time  from 
your  salaries.  That 's  business.  But  you  must  be  more 
particular  about  my  titles.  Always  speak  of  me  to  stran- 
gers as  the  Honorable  Mayor  Hercules  Whetstone,  the 
Merchant  Prince  of  Cornville,  near  the  capital  of  Illinois, — 
called  Hercules  after  his  grand-uncle  Hercules,  who  drove 
the  Indians  down  the  Mississippi.  Do  you  follow  me  ? 

BLUEGRASS,  SCYTHE. 
We  do. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Oh,  why  was  I  so  long  pent  up  in  the  heart  of  a  con- 
tinent ?  I  can  remain  on  land  no  longer. 

SCYTHE  [taking  out  bis  note-book  and  writing]. 

Item,  —  this  is  important.  Major  Bluegrass,  long  pent 
up  in  the  heart  of  the  American  continent,  upon  his  first 

11 


of  Cornville. 

sight  of  the  sea  wishes  to  swim.  This  is  of  great  scientific 
value,  as  it  shows  the  recurrence,  after  long  deprivation,  of 
an  inherited  pre-Adamite  instinct ;  for  we  read  that  Adam 
walked,  but  never  that  he  swam,  therefore  are  we  driven 
to  the  waters  for  evidence.  It  proves  the  origin  of  man 
from  the  oyster,  or  some  more  ancient  inhabitant  of  the  sea. 

BLUEGRASS. 

I  am  no  fish,  nor  ever  was.  I  'd  rather  spring  from  a 
rainbow  than  a  pond. 

SCYTHE. 

A  pond  is  your  rainbow  come  to  earth. 

BLUEGRASS. 
I  must  swim.     Oh,  Mayor  Whetstone,  let  us  all  swim ! 

SCYTHE  [writing  in  bis  note-boo^. 

The  pre-Adamite  instinct  in  the  presence  of  its  primary 
environment  manifests  increasing  ratio. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Professor,  take  your  increasing  ratio  and  slide  down  to 
the  imponderable  roots  of  the  sea.  I  must  get  out  of  this 
prison  of  clothes,  and  into  the  water. 

WHETSTONE. 

Major,  try  to  feel  comfortable  with  your  clothes  on,  for 
you'd  soon  be  imprisoned  without  them. 

3  33 


The  Merchant  Prince 

BLUEGRASS. 

No  dungeon  of  clothes  can  hold  me  !  What  a  lofty 
repose  comes  over  me  as  I  survey  yon  glittering  expanse 
of  water,  like  a  blue  field  of  undulating  velvet!  A  tear  of 
joy  I  give  to  thee,  O  mighty  sea  ! 

SCYTHE  [writing  in  his  note-boot] . 

Item,  —  he  returns  a  saline  tear  to  the  sea,  in  memory 
of  his  pre-Adamite  ancestor.  This  is  the  pre-Raphaelism 
of  natural  selection. 

WHETSTONE^ 

You  are  my  scientist,  my  threefold  Professor  of  three 
chairs, —  natural  science,  hygiene,  and  agriculture, —  in  my 
Cornville  Academy.  Now,  to  create  a  money-making 
hunger  for  science  at  the  Academy  we  must  popularize  it. 
Therefore,  give  me  the  scientific  facts  about  the  sea  in  a 
popular  sort  of  way,  so  that  all  may  understand  and  enjoy 
them. 

SCYTHE. 

Its  remote  abysses  are  inhabited  by  the  mammoths  of 
natural  history  and  evolutionary  philosophy  ;  and  vast  herds 
of  sea-cattle  graze  upon  its  marine  meadows,  like  buffaloes 
upon  the  prairies.  In  fact,  our  prairies  were  once  the  bottom 
of  the  sea,  and  the  buffaloes  were  supposed  to  have  been  left 
when  the  waters  receded. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Your  marine  buffaloes  must  wear  anchors  around  their 
necks,  instead  of  cow-bells. 

34 


of  Cornville. 

SCYTHE. 

Not  so.  Nature  always  provides  for  her  creatures;  for, 
as  birds  soaring  above  the  mountain-tops  have  great  wings 
of  feathers,  so,  on  the  other  hand,  these  cattle  have  immense 
hoofs,  of  a  substance  resembling  lead,  but  much  heavier  than 
the  lead  of  commerce. 

WHETSTONE. 

That  adds  to  their  commercial  value.  Major  Bluegrass, 
you  're  my  private  secretary,  and  editor  of  my  Cornville 
Eagle :  what  do  you  know  about  the  sea  ? 

BLUEGRASS. 

•  I  only  know  what  I  want  to  see  :  I  want  to  see  the  sport 
the  mermaids  see  down  in  their  prismatic  sea  homes,  drink- 
ing out  of  beautiful  sea-shells,  while  pearls  drop  at  their 
iridescent  feet.  Oh,  Hercules  Whetstone,  you  are  rich  ! 
Get  me  a  diving-bell.  I'll  interview  the  mermaids  for  the 

O 

benefit  of  the  Eagle,  scoop  our  rival,  the  Hawkeye  Observer, 
and  send  up  the  Eagle's  circulation  ten  thousand. 

WHETSTONE. 

Blue  thunder,  Major,  be  calm  !  Ever  since  we  arrived 
here  you  've  been  as  excited  as  if  you  expected  to  see  a 
drove  of  fairies  and  hobgoblins  jump  out  of  every  bush  and 

dance  in  the  air. 

SCYTHE. 

He  may  have  caught  the  infection  of  the  season  :  for  it  is 
now  the  so-called  fairies'  season  of  drolleries  and  bewitch- 

35 


The  Merchant  Prince 

ments.  It  was  a  delusion  of  the  ancients,  and  yet  it  had 
some  scientific  basis, —  for  science  shows  that  this  full  sum- 
mer tide  heightens  and  ripens  the  natural  dispositions  of 
men,  so  that  what  is  most  natural  in  them  often  seems  most 
strange. 

WHETSTONE. 

Professor,  examine  his  hygiene,  and  see  if  he  needs  any 
medicine. 

SCYTHE  [feeling  his  pulse] . 

What 's  this  ?  Why,  this  pulse  beneath  my  finger  is 
the  alarm-bell  of  a  disordered  system  !  Open  wide  your 
eyes.  [Looting  into  his  eye^\  What  a  distended  foresight 
have  we  here!  The  pupil  of  the  eye  is  dilated  like  an 
owl's. 

BLUEGRASS. 
The  owl  stands  for  wisdom. 

SCYTHE. 

Silence  !  Hold  out  your  tongue  !  [He  opens  his  mouth.] 
It  has  an  overcoat  with  a  high  color.  [Taking  out  a  ther- 
mometer.] The  temperature  is  seventy-two  outside  [taking 
the  temperature  under  his  tongue]^  and  inside,  under  the  shade 
of  the  tongue,  it  is  ninety-nine  and  nine-tenths.  Why,  we 
are  approaching  spontaneous  combustion  !  [Feeling  his  fore- 
head.] And  your  forehead  is  as  hot  as  a  volcano.  Mayor 
Whetstone,  you  may  in  a  few  hours  lose  your  private 
secretary. 

36 


of  Cornville. 

WHETSTONE. 

I  cannot  afford  to  lose  him  yet  j  save  him,  Professor, 
save  him  ! 

SCYTHE. 

I  will  obey.  The  unimpeachable  symptoms  indicate 
hypothetical  impoverishment  of  the  blood,  complicated  by  a 
highly  inflamed  excitation  of  the  nerve-tissues.  We  must 
at  once  build  up  an  iron  constitution. 

WHETSTONE. 

Build  him  up,  Professor,  he 's  too  sensitive ;  make  an 
ironclad  man  of  him,  like  myself.  Give  him  ribs  of  iron. 

SCYTHE  [presenting  two  pills] . 

Here  are  two  pills  of  iron.  I  'm  an  Eclectic.  This  in 
my  right  hand  is  the  mammoth  shell  of  the  Allopathic 
school,  and  this  in  my  left,  balanced  upon  a  point  of  my 
little  finger,  and  no  larger  than  a  solitary  grain  of  mustard- 
seed,  is  a  fine  shot  of  the  Homoeopathic  school. 

BLUEGRASS. 

I  don't  choose  either  of  your  schools.  I  belong  to  the 
Hydropathic  school. 

WHETSTONE. 

He  who  will  not  swallow  a  school  of  medicine  to  save 
his  life,  must  be  made  to  do  so.  Here,  Professor,  while  I 
hold  him,  give  him  a  schooling. 

[They  try  to  give  BLUEGRASS  an  iron  pill. 

37 


The  Merchant  Prince 

BLUEGRASS. 

Friends,  have  you  no  philopena  ?  Give  me  no  pill  of 
iron.  May  you  ne'er  sleep  with  down  within  your  pillow  ! 
Oh!  put  me  in  a  pillory,  but  put  no  pill  in  me.  Oh  !  [They 
succeed  in  giving  him  a  pill.~\  I  'm  pilled  ;  the  iron  has 
entered  my  system ;  how  very  hard  I  '11  soon  lie  down 
upon  my  little  pillow.  And  thou,  hard  Whetstone,  thus 
to  sharpen  Scythe  to  mow  me  down  !  Caesar  was  stabbed 
by  the  iron  daggers  of  the  conspirators,  but  I  am  slugged 
by  an  iron  bolus  from  the  hands  of  my  friends.  This  is 
ironical.  Alas  !  I  am  a  pundit  ;  for  as  a  typical  represent- 
ative of  the  pun,  e'en  while  the  iron  was  in  my  heart  I  have 
doubly  punn'd  it. 

SCYTHE. 

The  iron  that  enters  your  blood  gives  life,  not  death.  Thus 
does  modern  science  show  her  supremacy  over  ancient 
passion. 

BLUEGRASS. 

You  speak  well.  I  'm  better  now.  I  acquit  you  both, 
and  greet  you  as  my  friends.  [They  all  shake  hands.~\  What 
a  weird  place  for  a  marine  poem  !  Would  that  a  seamaid 
I  might  be  made  to  see  ! 

WHETSTONE. 
Hold  on  ;  I  have  it. 

SCYTHE. 
What  ? 

WHETSTONE. 

Sea-cattle,  Professor  :  they  live  ? 

38 


of  Cornville. 

SCYTHE. 

Most  profoundly  !  Among  wild  cattle  are  the  sea-lion, 
sea-elephant,  sea-unicorn  — 

WHETSTONE. 

Stop !  We  must  get  a  so-called  unicorn  for  the  Cornville 
Aquarium. 

SCYTHE. 

Among  domestic  cattle,  vast  droves  of  sea-pigs  —  in  our 
inland  nomenclature  called  porpoises  —  appear  upon  its  sur- 
face when  the  sea  boils,  before  a  storm  ;  and  sea-calves, 
sea-cows,  and  sea-oxen  roam  its  salt  sea  pastures. 

BLUEGRASS. 
This  is  the  romance  of  science. 

WHETSTONE. 
We  must  land  them  ! 

SCYTHE. 

What  do  you  purpose  to  do  with  the  porpoises  and  other 
sea-cattle  ? 

WHETSTONE. 

How  little  you  know  of  the  grand  possibilities  of  busi- 
ness !  Why,  I  Ml  build  up  a  new  industry  on  these  shores. 
I  am  the  Merchant  Prince  of  Cornville.  Here  I  '11  be  a 
sea-cattle  king ;  I  '11  make  a  fresh  fortune  in  my  gigantic 
monster  emporium  for  salted  sea-cattle.  And  now  to  the 
Dolphin  Inn,  where  I  'm  to  meet  Northlake.  Then  for 
business  by  the  sea.  \_Exeunt. 

39 


The  Merchant  Prince 
Act  the  Second. 

SCENE  I.  —  On  the  seashore.     Afternoon. 
Enter  WHETSTONE,  BLUEGRASS,  and  SCYTHE. 

WHETSTONE. 

Well,  boys,  I  've  seen  Northlake,  and  we  've  all  had  a 
good  dinner.  A  good  dinner  is  also  a  good  romance. 
Never  despise  money.  Do  you  follow  me  ? 

BLUEGRASS,  SCYTHE. 
We  do. 

WHETSTONE. 

Then  let  us  come  to  business  at  once.  I  've  brought 
you  out  here  to  have  a  consultation,  and  to  get  your  opinion 
on  certain  things,  each  in  his  own  department  of  learning, 
according  to  the  salaries  I  pay  you.  I  've  arranged  to  do  a 
fine  piece  of  business.  I  'm  a  man  of  business,  and  I  'm  a 
man  in  love.  I  'm  in  love  with  my  business,  and  I  '11  make 
a  business  of  my  love.  Professor,  how  should  a  man  dress 
to  be  a  so-called  lover  ? 

SCYTHE. 

That  depends ;  but  this  is  true :  He  that  loves  is  like  a 
traveller  between  the  north  and  south  poles,  and  he  will  need 
different  suits  of  clothing,  and  philosophy. 

40 


of  Cornville. 

BLUEGRASS. 
What  an  explanation  !    [laughing]    ha— ha— ha  ! 

WHETSTONE. 
Professor,  what  is  the  laugh  ? 

SCYTHE. 

My  analysis  of  the  laugh  is  not  yet  completed,  and  I  am 
now  seeking  to  produce  the  missing  link.  However,  the 
juxtaposition  of  two  incongruous  yet  contemporaneous  images 
in  the  mind  is  simultaneous  with  contrasting  and  varying 
pressures  upon  the  electrically  charged  nerves.  These  vary- 
ing pressures  by  reflex  action  cause  the  pleasurable  action  of 
the  muscles  called  the  laugh.  Let  me  illustrate.  By  varying 
and  alternating  pressures  upon  the  electrically  charged  nerves 
of  the  eye  there  is  presented  to  the  mind  the  image  of  a 
lover  caressing  a  maiden ;  and  just  beyond,  the  one  view 
overlapping  the  other,  we  see  a  donkey  eating  the  lover's 
bouquet,  and  then  \laugbing\  ha— ha— ha  ! 

BLUEGRASS. 

The  donkey  took  the  bouquet  for  an  offering  of  beau's 
hay. 

WHETSTONE. 

Be  silent.  No  trifling  with  science !  Professor,  analyze 
me  Violet. 

41 


The  Merchant  Prince 

BLUEGRASS. 
I  know !  I  'm  at  home  in  colors. 

WHETSTONE. 
Attention  !     We  're  now  in  science. 

SCYTHE. 

The  flower  violet  is  the  only  organic  substance  in  which 
science  has  discovered  a  trace  of  gold. 

WHETSTONE. 

Gold  and  Violet  found  together,  —  good  !     Why,  science  is 
a  fortune-teller.     Go  on  ! 

SCYTHE. 

It  is  the  most  refrangible  of  the  seven  primary  colors  of 
the  solar  spectrum. 

WHETSTONE. 
What 's  refrangible  ? 

BLUEGRASS. 
I  know ! 

WHETSTONE. 
Steady  there,  Bluegrass  ! 

42 


of  Cornville. 

SCYTHE. 

Let  me  illustrate.  You  discover  by  a  violet  light  a  beau- 
tiful fish  in  the  water,  and  you  wish  to  catch  it.  Now, 
you  must  throw  your  hook,  dart,  or  net,  not  directly  at  it, 
but  a  considerable  space  this  side,  according  to  the  depth. 

WHETSTONE. 

That 's  fishing  under  difficulties.  Do  you  mean  to  say 
that  a  man  can't  see  straight  in  a  violet  light  ? 

BLUEGRASS. 
I  know !  let  me  explain. 

WHETSTONE. 
Listen  to  the  Professor ! 

SCYTHE, 

Violet  light  passing  from  one  medium  into  another  of  a 
different  density  becomes  most  refractory,  and  turned  out  of 
a  direct  course  at  an  angle  :  in  other  words,  you  must  angle 
for  your  fish.  See  my  Tables  on  Molecular  Structure, 
Density,  etc.,  determined  by  angles  of  refraction. 

WHETSTONE. 

So  if  I  get  the  hang  of  the  angles  and  depth,  I  'm  all  right, 
am  I? 

43 


The  Merchant  Prince 

SCYTHE. 
In  a  scientific  sense,  you  are. 

WHETSTONE. 

Oh,  ho !  then  I  'm  pretty  well  posted  on  Violet.  Now 
for  the  next  point :  Professor,  what  is  love  ? 

SCYTHE. 

With  the  passionless  precision  of  science,  I  say  unto  you, 
Mayor  Whetstone,  though  she  you  love  is  the  most  sym- 
metrical duplex  pyramidal  aggregation  of  atoms  in  the  human 
saccharine  conglomeration,  shun  love,  and  court  science ;  for 
by  spectroscopic  analysis  of  the  light  proceeding  from  the 
eyes  of  jealous  lovers,  I  have  seen  their  spleen  turning  a  dark 
green. 

WHETSTONE. 

I  did  n't  know  it  was  so  bad  as  that !  Major,  how  do  you 
regard  love,  from  the  heights  of  romance  ? 

BLUEGRASS. 
A  region  of  enchantment. 

WHETSTONE. 

Yonder  valley  with  verdure  clothed  would  be  a  capital 
place  for  my  emporium  for  porpoises,  or  so-called  sea-pigs. 

BLUEGRASS. 

I  implore  you,  Mayor  Whetstone,  do  not  project  across 

44 


of  Cornville. 

my  mental  line  of  sight  that  animal,  either  in  its  terrestrial  or 
marine  form. 

WHETSTONE. 

He  fills  his  destiny  to  the  full ;  and  besides,  he  is  the  most 
intelligent  of  animals.  It  is  a  historical  fact  that  he  was 
taught  to  play  whist  fifty  years  before  the  clever  dog. 

BLUEGRASS. 

He  jars  on  the  landscape,  and  is  a  discord  amidst  the  dulcet 
harmony  of  the  waves. 

WHETSTONE. 

What  would  you  have  ?  The  good  pig  eats  all  he  can 
while  he  can ;  therefore  he  eats  like  a  pig.  Major  Bluegrass, 
let  me  hear  no  more  of  your  disparaging  comments  on  the 
honest  and  assiduous  pig,  —  the  most  useful  and  business-like 
of  all  our  domestic  animals.  He  can  nobly  hold  up  his 
head  and  represent  corn  converted.  And  while  he  turns  the 
cornfields  into  bank-notes,  shall  we  blame  him  if  he  does 
not  serenade  us  with  the  notes  of  a  silver  flute  ? 

SCYTHE. 

I  wish  to  make  a  moral  observation  upon  a  physical  basis: 
Major,  if  the  formula  of  your  destiny  were  identical  with  the 
pig's,  you  would  give  rise  to  more  discordant  vocalization 
than  even  that  disgruntled  animal. 

45 


The  Merchant  Prince 

BLUEGRASS. 

He  may  be  the  most  useful  animal  upon  this  magnificent 
star  of  ours ;  but  though  his  good  points  were  as  many  as  his 
bristles,  they  could  not  excuse  his  shortcomings.  The  lim- 
ited geographical  prospects  of  his  pen  should  make  him 
deeply  contemplative  of  the  stars ;  instead  of  which  he  roots 
deeply  in  the  earth.  Hence  he  takes  a  step  backwards,  and, 
instead  of  increasing  his  wit,  he  increases  only  his  weight. 

SCYTHE. 

Man  is  like  a  reversed  vegetable  that  has  swallowed  its 
roots  and  walked  off  on  its  branches.  Why,  what  is  that  at 
my  feet  ?  Let  me  pick  it  up  tenderly.  Hurrah  !  I  've  got  a 
geologic  pebble !  See,  Mayor  Whetstone,  what  a  rare, 
grand  specimen  for  the  prehistoric  museum  of  the  Cornville 
Academy  ! 

WHETSTONE. 

What 's  it  worth  ? 

SCYTHE. 

Worth !  Mercenary  man !  Let  us  reverently  take  off 
our  hats  in  its  presence.  It 's  worth  more  than  all  the  prop- 
erty in  Cornville.  See,  Major,  see  ! 

BLUEGRASS. 

Put  it  in  your  pocket,  or  some  one  will  claim  it. 

46 


of  Cornville. 

SCYTHE. 

Unfeeling  man !  No  one  shall  claim  it.  You  saw  me 
pick  it  up.  You  are  my  witnesses. 

BLUEGRASS. 
To  what  geologic  family  does  it  belong  ? 

SCYTHE. 

It  is  a  genuine  relic  of  the  cosmic  dust.  Hurrah  !  I  've 
got  a  geologic  pebble  !  See  the  fluted  sheets  of  color  per- 
vading its  interior  !  It  must  have  been  suspended  in  the  pre- 
Adamite  fires  for  ages.  Gentlemen,  remember  you  have 
seen  no  meteors  in  the  sky. 

[Taking  out  his  note-book  and  writing. 

Enter  SMALL  BOY,  crying. 

BOY. 
Give  me  my  marble  ! 

SCYTHE. 

Why,  boy,  this  is  no  marble.  'T  is  a  very  rare  specimen 
of  the  dewdrop  form  of  crystallization,  precipitated  during  the 
prevalence  of  the  primeval  sand-storms,  formed  by  the  cooling 
of  the  stony  vapors. 

BOY. 

Give  me  my  marble,  or  I  '11  call  my  mother ! 

47 


The  Merchant  Prince 

WHETSTONE. 
Professor,  you  may  have  picked  up  the  wrong  specimen. 

SCYTHE. 

There  can  be  no  mistake.  Let  me  examine  it  with  my 
microscope.  [Examining  itJ\  I  clearly  recognize  the  uni- 
formity of  its  circular  strata  of  color,  which  could  be  formed 
only  as  it  revolved  on  its  own  incandescent  axis  in  super- 
heated fires.  Boy,  look  through  this  glass,  and  then  see  if 
you  have  the  youthful  cheek  to  say  it  is  —  I  tremble  to  say  it 
—  your  marble. 

BOY  [looking  at  it  through  the  glass] . 

That 's  my  colored  marble ;  I  was  playing  with  it.  [To 
WHETSTONE  and  BLUEGRASS.]  Make  him  give  it  back  to 
me,  won't  you  ?  It  has  a  nick  and  the  first  letter  of  my 
name  on  it. 

SCYTHE  [surprisedly,  re-examining  /V] . 

Why,  boy,  I  cannot  afford  an  unscientific  controversy  with 
you  or  your  mother.  Alas  !  take  it.  [Giving  marble  to  the 
BOY.]  And  when  again  you  play  with  it,  remember —  [Exit 
BOY,  hastily. ,]  Thus  do  my  hopes  of  a  pre-Adamite  museum 
wither.  It  was  a  unique  specimen  of  the  circular  group  of 
crystallization  dreamed  of  by  science,  but  hitherto  undis- 
covered. Major,  here  comes  your  seamaid. 

48 


of  Cornville. 

Enter  CATHARINE  in  disguise,  with  a  basket  of  fish. 

CATHARINE. 

Good  afternoon,  gentlemen  landsmen  !  I  have  fish  in  my 
basket ;  will  you  buy  ?  I  have  your  fortunes  in  my  keeping  ; 
will  you  have  them  ? 

BLUEGRASS. 

I  salute  you,  by  the  sea,  as  a  near  relative  in  the  fields  of 
romance  to  the  milking-maid  of  our  inland  pastures. 

CATHARINE. 

I  take  you  to  be  landsmen,  and,  therefore,  good  fresh 
men.  I  am  a  fortune-teller  with  varied  fortunes.  Each 
summer,  for  a  month,  to  these  shores  I  come  to  renew  and 
perfect  the  spirit's  vision,  which,  even  like  natural  sight,  is 
cleared  by  good  free  air  and  sunshine ;  and  as  men  with 
glasses  have  seen  ten  hundred  living  things  upon  a  pin's  point, 
so  I,  with  spiritual  lenses,  have  seen  the  past,  present,  and 
future,  each  in  proper  order,  marshalled  upon  a  space  no 
larger  than  a  spectacle  glass. 

WHETSTONE. 
Pardon  me,  —  your  name  and  home  ? 

CATHARINE. 

My  name  is  Catharine,  and  my  home  is  wherever  I  am. 
I  come  from  the  city,  where  there  are  more  sharks  in  one 
day  than  you  will  see  here  in  a  year,  and  where  people  in 

4  49 


The  Merchant  Prince 

despair  come  to  me  for  the  fortune  fate  has  denied  them. 
I  am  more  pitiful  than  fate ;  and  their  pleased  looks  give  me 
a  joy  greater  than  does  their  pittance.  Hence,  poor  souls,  I 
give  them  precious  pictures  of  future  good,  which,  believing 
in,  they  achieve,  and  thus  their  griefs  assuage. 

BLUEGRASS. 
We  all,  to-day,  bear  our  fortunes  lightly. 

CATHARINE. 

And  may  you  at  nightfall  bear  them  as  lightly  !  Fine 
weather  makes  quick  friends.  Come,  then,  gentlemen,  will 
you  buy  ?  Each  one  in  his  own  humor.  If  there  be  a  true 
merchant  among  you,  I  will  tempt  him  with  the  fish's 
weight  ;  if  there  be  a  moralist,  with  the  fish's  moral ;  if 
there  be  a  scientist,  with  the  fish's  complicated  structure; 
if  there  be  a  poet,  with  the  fish's  most  poetical  history  j  if 
there  be  a  gourmand,  with  the  fish's  flavor.  Each  one  shall 
see  in  the  fish  he  buys,  his  own  humor.  He  shall  have 
both  weight  and  moral ;  for  a  good  moral  without  weight  is 
immoral,  and  a  good  weight  without  a  good  moral  is  a  dull 
measure.  You  shall  pay  me  for  the  weight,  for  that  the 
fish  had  in  the  sea ;  but  for  the  moral,  that  is  in  my  humor, 
and  gain  has  taken  a  vacation.  Every  one  has  his  pastime, 
and  no  one  is  so  poor  but  he  has  his  humor.  Mine  is  to  see 
men  buy  a  fish,  each  in  his  own  humor ;  for  by  the  fish's 
scales  will  I  weigh  him. 

50 


of  Cornville. 

SCYTHE. 
How  came  your  hair  so  white  at  your  age  ? 

CATHARINE. 

With  losing  of  my  husband,  and  giving  of  good  fortunes. 
But  come,  gentlemen ;  fair  weather  makes  quick  friends,  but 
unfair  questions,  like  unfair  weather,  part  them.  Will  you 
buy  ? 

BLUE  GRASS. 

Let  us  buy. 

WHETSTONE. 
Let  us  first  learn  the  price  of  the  fish. 

BLUEGRASS. 

It  sounds  to  me  like  a  romance.  Come,  let  us  all  sit  here 
in  pleasant  converse ;  the  night  is  afar,  and  while  we  buy 
we  '11  enjoy  the  aroma  of  the  salt-sea  zephyrs  blown  from 
off  the  invisible  flower-beds  of  the  sea. 

WHETSTONE. 
Stop  your  perpetual  romance  ! 

BLUEGRASS. 

Romance  that  is  not  perpetual,  but  goes  by  fits  and  starts, 
is  not  worth  the  reality  it  feeds  upon. 

51 


The  Merchant  Prince 

WHETSTONE. 

I  'd  put  the  price  on  everything,  —  trees,  fences,  houses, 
the  baby's  rattle,  and  in  its  first  primer  a  price-list  of  its 

expenses. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Hercules  Whetstone,  Mayor  of  Cornville,  there  are  some 
things  upon  this  magnificent  star  of  ours  that  are  not 
in  the  market,  —  things  so  high  that  you  cannot  reach  and 
put  a  price  upon  them  in  the  cold-blooded  shambles  of 
merchandise. 

WHETSTONE. 

There  you  go  again,  trying  to  throw  star-dust  in  your 
benefactor's  eyes.  Oh,  why  did  I  make  you  editor  of  my 
Cornville  Eagle  ? 

BLUEGRASS. 

Because  your  Eagle  was  asleep,  and  I  was  the  only  one 
who  could  wake  him  up  and  make  him  soar  into  a  higher 
circulation.  He  looked  like  a  whipped  buzzard  that  had 
dulled  his  talons  upon  old  newspapers;  but  I  put  new  life 
into  him ;  and  now  that  I  have  made  you  the  proprietor  of  a 
newspaper  which  is  a  household  word,  and  which  will  be  in 
every  scholar's  library  at  the  close  of  human  learning,  you 
scoff  at  me.  Such  is  glory  in  a  commercial  age  !  Columbus 
may  discover,  but  the  merchant  Americus  gives  his  name  to 

two  continents. 

SCYTHE. 

Good  woman,  some  undesirable  chemical  change  may  take 

52 


of  Cornville. 

place  in  your  fish.     I  would  advise  you  to  put  some  s.alt  on 
them.     I  am  a  chemist. 

CATHARINE. 
The  fish  are  dead  ;  they  cannot  hear. 

SCYTHE. 

Mayor  Whetstone,  why  do  you  not  change  the  Eagle  to 
the  Hawkeye  Review  of  Western  Science  ? 

BLUEGRASS. 

Strip  that  proud  bird  of  his  plumage,  and  in  less  than  seven 
revolutions  of  this  magnificent  star  of  ours  he  will  have 
fewer  followers  than  a  vanquished  rooster. 

WHETSTONE. 

Major,  I  cannot  resist  you.  You  are  my  true,  my  great 
and  only  editor.  Give  me  your  hand  ;  let  us  be  friends. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Now  let  us  go  on  with  our  romance.  [T0  CATHARINE.] 
Bring  on  your  fish  ! 

CATHARINE. 

There  are  as  queer  fish  inside  as  outside  the  basket,  I  '11 
warrant  you.  [She  presents  the  basket  to  WHETSTONE  ;  he 
selects  a  codfish.]  That  is  a  fish  in  weight  and  look  of  much 
import,  —  the  codfish.  He  is  an  aristocrat  among  the  shoals 
and  schools,  and  he  has  done  much  to  build  up  our  own 

53 


The  Merchant  Prince 

aristocracy.      [She  presents  the  basket  to  SCYTHE,  and  he  selects 
a  Holothurian.] 

SCYTHE. 

Why,  madam,  this  is  a  rare  fish,  a  Holothurian,  vulgarly 
called  a  sea-cucumber,  from  its  resemblance  to  that  common 
garden  vegetable.  I  '11  mount  its  skeleton  at  once.  It  is  the 
fish  of  science,  and  has  the  power  of  analysis ;  for  't  is  written 
that  when  attacked,  for  self-protection  it  will  divide  itself  into 
many  pieces,  or  turn  itself  inside  out. 

She  presents  the  basket  to  BLUEGRASS,  and  he  selects  a  flying-fish. 

BLUEGRASS. 
How  beautiful ! 

CATHARINE. 

Yes,  't  is  a  flying-fish,  which,  rising  above  the  heavy  and 
obscurer  element  of  its  kind,  and  using  its  fins  as  wings,  in 
aerial  courses,  sparkling  like  a  jewel,  beholds  the  glittering  and 
sunlit  scenery  of  the  upper  air.  There  is  much  similarity 
between  these  excursions  and  the  poet's  fancies.  And  as 
these  lower  creatures  in  their  airy  flights  excite  the  wonder- 
ment of  fishes  and  please  men,  so  may  human  excursions  in 
the  higher  element  of  fancy  excite  the  wonderment  of  men 
and  please  the  gods. 

BLUEGRASS   [/'«  admiration^. 

Madam,  consider  yourself  engaged  as  sea-side  corres- 
pondent of  the  Cornville  Eagle :  topic,  sea-fish  and  their 

54 


of  Cornville. 

morals.     Please  accept  my  card,  and  draw  upon  me  for    a 
month's  salary.  [Gives  bis  card. 

SCYTHE  [writing  in  his  note-boot] . 

Item,  —  this  is  important.  In  evolution,  the  grasshoppef 
sprang  from  the  flying-fish. 

WHETSTONE. 

What  birds  are  those  flying  above  the  waves  and  darting 
like  flying  squirrels  ? 

CATHARINE. 

They  are  the  larks  of  the  sea,  and  in  the  wake  of  a  ship 
are  wider  awake  than  your  land  larks. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Madam,  with  your  permission,  —  upon  the  first  streak  of 
dawn  our  common  meadow-lark  has  been  known  to  climb 
the  heavenly  vaults  above  this  magnificent  star  of  ours  like 
a  morning-glory  of  song. 

WHETSTONE. 
Professor  Scythe,  explain. 

SCYTHE  [examining  the  birds  with  bis  glass], 

Leaving,  for  a  rr  oment,  grave  mysteries  of  the  deep  upon 
the  floor  of  the  abysmal  sea,  we  ascend  to  trace  in  the  flight 
of  a  simple  bird  its  name  and  family.  The  wings  of  the  bird 

55 


The  Merchant  Prince 

are  the  pre-Adamite  forefeet  of  an  animal  which,  through 
ceaseless  efforts  of  evolution,  became  crowned  with  feathers. 
From  the  movements  of  these  feathered  forefeet  we  can  tell 
all  about  the  bird.  Now,  Mayor  Whetstone,  take  this  glass. 
[He  gives  glass  to  WHETSTONE,  who  follows  the  movements  of 
the  bird  with  ;'/.]  Now  watch  closely  the  parabola  of  dip  or 
curve  of  flight  that  puts  it  in  the  great  family  of  web-footed 
water-fowls.  See  the  unwavering  scoop,  the  practiced  and 
web-footed  ease  with  which  it  grazes  a  wave.  We  have 
before  us  a  genuine  sea-gull. 

/ 

WHETSTONE. 

Major,  put  that  in  the  Eagle,  and  see  how  it  looks  in  print. 
Something 's  bitten  me  !  it  must  be  one  of  your  sea-fleas. 

[Looking  up  his  sleeve. 

BLUEGRASS. 
Sea-flea ;  do  you  see  it  ? 

CATHARINE. 

To  see  a  flea,  you  must  flee  the  sea,  —  unless  perchance 
you  may  see  a  deep-sea  flea  such  as  I  have  at  the  bottom  of 
my  basket.  [Takes  out  a  lobster. ,]  This  is  the  wicked  flea 
the  fisherman  pursues.  He  will  give  a  biting  relish  to  your 
codfish.  [Offers  lobster  to  WHETSTONE,  who  draws  back. 

WHETSTONE. 
Is  he  dead  ? 

56 


of  Cornville. 

CATHARINE. 
Such  is  his  seeming. 

WHETSTONE. 

What  a  monster  !  [Observing  the  lobster.]  Professor, 
what 's  his  scientific  history  ? 

SCYTHE    \weariedly\ . 
I  don't  Jcnow. 

WHETSTONE. 

Don't  know  !  Professor,  it  cost  me  a  heap  of  money  to 
build  my  nursery  of  learning,  the  Cornville  Academy,  and 
I  'm  going  to  make  it  the  biggest  paying  institution  on  this 
broad  continent.  I  've  advertised  you  in  letters  big  as  fence- 
posts  as  our  own  prided  prince  of  science,  engaged  at  an 
enormous  salary.  There  are  already  applications  for  next 
term  from  over  five  hundred  anxious  fathers  of  wonderful 
sons.  Can  I  afford  to  disappoint  them  ?  No.  Can  you 
stand  there  and  calmly  tell  me  you  cannot  give  me  so  simple 
a  thing  as  the  history  of  a  deep-sea  flea  ? 

SCYTHE  [looking  at  lobster  with  his  glass] . 

In  the  race  for  life,  he  first  made  his  appearance  m  the 
epoch  of  the  mammoth,  anterior  to  the  gigantic  antediluvians, 
before  the  apparition  of  man  upon  the  earth,  and  at  a  season 
in  the  progressive  series  of  pre-Adamite  evolution  soon  after 
the  separation  of  the  crocodile  branch  from  the  main  stem, 
about  forty-five  millions  of  years  ago. 

57 


The  Merchant  Prince 

WHETSTONE. 
Astonishing  !  so  long  as  that  ? 

SCYTHE. 

I  will  not  in  detail  give  his  scientific  biography.  It  is 
sufficient  that  during  this  period  he  gorged  himself  with  the 
blood  of  these  primeval  mammoths,  which  accounts  for  his 
size,  and  often,  frenzied  by  the  harrowing  appetite  of  this 
parasite,  these  gigantic  and  prehistoric  brutes  made  the  pri- 
meval forests  for  a  hundred  miles  ring  with  their  helpless  bel- 
lowings.  But  I  will  not  further  excite  your  pity  for  the 
remote  ages. 

WHETSTONE. 

Go  on,  Professor,  go  on  ! 

SCYTHE. 

This  was  the  summer  of  his  race ;  but,  alas  !  then  came 
the  glacial  period.  He  was  frozen  up  with  the  mammoths,  and 
remained  so  for  probably  twenty  millions  of  years ;  but  such 
was  his  tenacity  of  life,  that  when  the  world  thawed  out,  he 
again  appeared,  his  skin  somewhat  hardened  by  exposure,  — 
a  fact  which  you  will  recognize,  —  but  otherwise  cheerful, 
and  in  his  usual  health.  Well  may  his  kind  be  grateful ; 
for,  wrapped  in  ice  for  aeons  of  time,  he  was  the  slender 
thread  upon  which  their  future  hung. 

WHETSTONE. 

But  why  did  he  take  to  the  sea  ? 

58 


of  Cornville. 

SCYTHE. 

After  the  apparition  of  man  upon  the  earth  he  was  driven 
into  the  sea  by  the  excited  inhabitants. 

WHETSTONE. 

Major,  this  is  truly  wonderful.  The  Academy  will 
succeed. 

BLUEGRASS. 

'T  is  the  very  romance  of  science. 

WHETSTONE. 
But,  Professor,  what  was  the  glacial  period  ? 

SCYTHE. 

Well,  sir,  the  glacial  period  was  an  epoch  when,  from  a 
business  point  of  view,  ice  was  cheaper  than  dirt.  Had  the 
apparition  then  occurred,  man  could  have  gone  all  over  the 
globe  on  skates.  But  as  it  was  a  vast  ball  of  ice,  he  would 
probably  have  slipped  off  into  space,  and  nothing  more  would 
have  been  heard  of  him.  And  so  this  star  of  ice  for  count- 
less ages  rolled  on  through  the  sky  like  a  big  snow-ball ;  but 
at  last  the  great  electric  sun  struck  the  earth  on  the  equator, 
which  accounts  for  the  equatorial  bulge  which  exists  to  this 
day.  Then  commenced  the  greatest  drama  of  the  elements 
ever  witnessed  upon  our  planet.  The  vast  ice-fields  were 
riven  in  twain,  with  terrific  reports  which  reverberated  through 
the  heavenly  spaces,  and  to  which  our  present  thunder  is  but 
as  an  elemental  whisper.  Icebergs  formed,  and  in  fantastic 

59 


The  Merchant  Prince 

and  sublime  shapes,  towering  mountain  high  and  illuminated 
by  the  sun,  floated  down  towards  the  equator. 

WHETSTONE. 
Go  on,  don't  stop ;  go  on. 

SCYTHE. 

Then  commenced  the  great  oscillation  of  the  land-masses; 
then  the  eruptive  rocks  and  sedimentary  strata  were  moved 
from  their  foundations.  Then  occurred  the  geologic  epoch 
of  the  denudation  and  washdown  of  hills  and  mountains,  and 
then  were  formed  the  ocean  floors,  the  islands,  and  the  con- 
tinental areas  which  we  inhabit. 

WHETSTONE. 

Put  that  in  the  Eagle.  [The  lobster  clings  to  him.~^  Hello  ! 
What 's  the  matter  now  ?  Professor  !  Major  !  Woman  ! 
Take  off"  your  flea ! 

BLUEGRASS. 
Be  a  hero  ! 

WHETSTONE. 

Great  thunder  !  take  him  ofF.  He  has  claws  to  his  eyes. 
\_Takes  off'  his  coat,  with  the  lobster  clinging  to  /V.J  Major, 
this  is  your  fault.  Don't  speak  to  me  again  until  you  apolo- 
gize. Come,  Professor. 

[Exeunt  SCYTHE   and  WHETSTONE   carrying  his   coat   with 
lobster  clinging  to  it. 

60 


of  Cornville. 

CATHARINE. 

Fair  is  your  prairie  wit,  and  these  sea-scenes  have  keen 
spices  which  well  try  its  mettle.  He  that  is  young  and  fresh 
shall  have  the  salt  of  experience.  Many  that  come  here  to 
be  salted  by  the  sea  are  seasoned  by  love.  Would  you  be 
so  seasoned? 

BLUEGRASS. 

If  it  be  a  fair,  good  seasoning. 

CATHARINE. 

At  yonder  villa  by  the  sea  I  well  know  Mademoiselle 
Ninon,  a  French  maid  who  is  in  friendly  service  to  one 
Violet.  She  has  a  dainty  wit,  with  a  foreign  flavor  that  will 
season  you  well. 

BLUEGRASS. 
Acquaint  us.     I  would  be  so  seasoned. 

CATHARINE. 

To-day  she  comes  that  I  may  tell  her  fortune.  Be  at  the 
masquerade  to-night ;  wear  a  blue  ribbon,  —  there  you  shall 
meet  her.  Trust  me.  Fare  thee  well. 

[Exit  CATHARINE. 

BLUEGRASS. 

This  is  genuine  romance.  'Tis  sweeter  than  ambrosia. 
Oh,  why  was  I  so  long  pent  up  in  the  heart  of  a  continent  ? 

61 


The  Merchant  Prince 

Farewell,  dull  facts  of  business  which  have  stung  me  sharper 
than  thistles.  Roll  on,  magnificent  star,  and  bring  night 
and  romance.  [Exit. 


SCENE  II.  —  Portico  of  the  Dolphin  Inn. 
Enter  WHETSTONE  and  BLUEGRASS  in  conversation. 

WHETSTONE. 

Northlake  is  a  most  melancholy  man.  I  believe  if  he 
had  a  warehouse  full  of  anchors,  and  the  market  for  anchors 
was  booming,  he  'd  be  hopelessly  unhappy.  Said  I  to  him, 
to-day:  Northlake,  don't  look  so  confoundedly  gloomy  ;  cheer 
up  !  the  day  I  marry  your  niece  Violet,  you  shall  have  five 
hundred  thousand  dollars. 

BLUEGRASS. 
His  villa  looks  like  the  residence  of  a  prince. 

WHETSTONE. 

So  it  does ;  but  it  is  covered  with  a  mortgage  from  cellar 
to  roof.  One  month  ago  Northlake  was  a  rich  man,  but, 
leaving  his  books  and  plunging  into  speculation,  he  lost  not 
only  his  fortune,  but  also  that  of  his  niece  Violet,  who  is 
an  orphan,  and  whose  fortune  was  intrusted  to  his  keeping. 
Her  loss  seems  to  trouble  him  most. 

62 


of  Cornville. 

BLUEGRASS. 
When  did  you  become  acquainted  with  him  ? 

WHETSTONE. 

Last  summer,  when  they  were  travelling  in  the  West. 
I  had  some  business  with  him,  and  I  then  got  a  glance  at 
his  niece.  I  have  since  corresponded  with  him.  When  I 
met  him  to-day  he  had  a  book  in  his  hand.  I  asked  him, 
What 's  that  book  ?  He  replied,  It 's  a  work  on  speculative 
philosophy.  Said  I,  Throw  it  away,  and  study  the  market 
quotations  and  crops  ;  that 's  the  kind  of  speculative  philoso- 
phy you  need. 

BLUEGRASS. 
What  did  he  say  to  that  ? 

WHETSTONE. 

He  opened  his  book  and  commenced  reading.  Said  I: 
Close  your  book.  I  don't  understand  it,  and  I  don't  want 
to.  I  've  made  you  a  business  proposition  that 's  worth  more 
than  all  your  books.  I  've  got  the  booty,  and  you  've  got 
the  beauty.  Is  it  a  trade  ? 

Enter  PUNCH,  who  tries  to  overhear  the  conversation. 

BLUEGRASS. 

How  did  that  impress  him  ? 

63 


The  Merchant  Prince 

WHETSTONE. 

He  replied,  You  shall  have  her,  but  you  must  first  woo 
her  as  a  tender  and  gallant  lover  should,  and  thus  win  also 
her  dower  of  tenderness  and  fancy. 

BLUEGRASS. 
How  did  that  strike  you  ? 

WHETSTONE. 

Oh,  said  I,  I  '11  show  my  good  points.  I  'm  rich,  noble, 
and  good ;  she  '11  have  me. 

BLUEGRASS. 
How  did  that  affect  him  ? 

WHETSTONE. 

Come,  Whetstone,  said  he,  you  're  a  practical  man.  The 
most  practical  man  in  love  is  the  most  fanciful.  Come  to 
the  masquerade  to-night  in  a  heroic  character.  —  And  I  'm 
going. 

BLUEGRASS. 

What  kind  of  a  hero  will  you  assume  to  be  ? 

WHETSTONE. 

Oh,  any  kind,  just  so  it 's  a  hero.  I  can  outdo  any  of 
them. 

64 


of  Cornville. 

BLUEGRASS  [perceiving  PUNCH]. 

Hello  !  my  friend,  can  you  tell  us  where  to  get  masquer- 
ade suits  ? 

PUNCH. 

Yonder,  gentlemens.  [Pointing  to  a  neighboring  shop."] 
I  recommends  him.  He  is  a  good  neighbor  and  an  honest 
man.  Good  day,  gentlemens. 

[PUNCH  slips  into  his  shop  by  a  side  door. 

WHETSTONE  Dreading  the  sign  over  the  door]. 

Peter  Punch.  Masquerade  Suits  and  Unk-Weed  Lini- 
ment. For  sale  or  rent.  —  That 's  a  queer  sign  ! 

BLUEGRASS. 

They  are  well  suited  ;  for  the  liniment  is  a  lining  under  the 
suits.  [They  enter  the  shop  by  front  door. 


SCENE  III.  —  A  costumer's  shop.     PUNCH  arranging  his 
costumes. 

Enter  WHETSTONE  and  BLUEGRASS. 

PUNCH. 
Walk  into  mine  shop,  gentlemens.      You   do  me   great    / 

honors. 

WHETSTONE. 

Are  you  not  the  same  man  we  met  outside  ? 
S  65 


The  Merchant  Prince 

PUNCH. 
Did  he  say  I  was  honest  ? 

WHETSTONE. 

You  have  it. 

PUNCH. 

Mine  good  friends,  that  was  mine  brother. 

WHETSTONE. 
Why,  you  have  the  same  marks.     What  are  you  up  to  ? 

PUNCH. 

Mine  friend,  we  were  born  twins  ;  our  own  father  could  n't 

tell  us  apart. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Nature  must  have  been  in  a  proud  mood  when  she  dupli- 
cated you. 

WHETSTONE. 
What 's  your  name  ? 

PUNCH. 
Peter  Punch. 

WHETSTONE. 
What 's  your  brother's  name  ? 

PUNCH. 

Peter  Punch  Number  Two.     We  are  twins  ;  I  swears  it. 
Mine  friends,  these  are  my  beautiful  suits  ;  and  in  this  bottle 

66 


of  Cornville. 

is  the  wonder  of  seven  hemispheres,  the  sublimely  famous 
and  justly  celebrated  unk-weed  liniment.  By  your  firesides, 
rub  it  in  well.  With  one  wing  of  medicinal  gum,  and  the 
other  of  healing  balsam,  it  flies  to  its  proud  home  in  the 
bones.  Gentlemens,  rub  it  in  well.  There  it  works  its 
marvels.  This,  gentlemens,  is  the  unk-weed  art  gallery 
[pointing  to  two  pictures^.  This  one  is  before  taking ;  that 
one,  after  taking.  Gentlemens,  rub  it  on  your  skins  inside, 
and  put  one  of  my  suits  on  the  outside,  and  then  you  do 
marvels.  I  swears  it. 

WHETSTONE. 

Which  do  you  sell  or  rent,  —  the  suits,  or  the  liniment  ? 
[PUNCH  winks  an  eye."]  Why  do  you  wink? 

PUNCH. 

Goodness  gracious  !  you  surprises  me  so.  Mine  eyelid  slips 
down.  Gentlemens,  I  cannot  rent  the  wonderful  unk-weed. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Peter  Punch,  you  are  a  compound  fraction.  Give  your 
doctor  fraction  a  quick  drop,  and  your  tailor  fraction  a  fresh 
seaming.  We  have  good  sound  characters,  but  you  and  your 
tailor's  goose  may  mend  them.  I  wish  to  cast  upon  a  French 
maid  a  romantic  spell,  something  in  the  aurora  borealis  fashion. 

PUNCH. 

Gentlemens,  I  have  n't  got  it  [winding  his  eyi\. 

67 


The  Merchant  Prince 

BLUEGRASS. 
Why  do  you  wink  ? 

PUNCH. 
"  Mine  friend,  it  is  my  little  weakness.     I  swears  it. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Try  to  keep  your  blind  up.  It  makes  me  suspicious  that 
something  wrong  is  going  on  inside.  Peter,  have  you  a  rain- 
bow suit  ? 

PUNCH. 

Mine  dear  friend,  I  've  just  what  will  suit  you.  I  made  it 
for  a  gentlemans  just  like  you,  but  it  rained  and  he  did  n't 
call  for  it. 

BLUEGRASS. 

He  was  only  a  fair-weather  beau  ;  but  I  '11  be  a  rainbow 
as  well.  [PUNCH  shows  him  the  suit. ~\  That  will  suit.  Now 
show  me  a  mask.  [PUNCH  shows  him  a  mask.~\  Why,  it  has 
a  nose  upon  it  like  a  barn-gable. 

PUNCH. 

Mine  friend,  a  big  nose  makes  a  strong  character  [laying 
bis  finger  along  his  nose"] . 

BLUEGRASS. 

Its  cheeks  are  smooth  as  a  boy's. 

68 


of  Cornville. 

PUNCH. 

Mine  friend,  how  would  a  rainbow  look  with  a  beard  on 
it  ?  Oh,  mine  friend  !t 

BLUEGRASS. 

Come  out  from  under  your  disguise,  Peter  Punch.  You 
have  the  eternal  fitness  of  things  under  your  thumb,  and 
that  makes  a  good  tailor  and  a  shrewd  philosopher. 

PUNCH. 
I  thank  you,  gentlemens. 

WHETSTONE. 

Show  me  some  clothes  worn  by  kings,  princes,  and  poten- 
tates. 

PUNCH. 

Mine  friend,  let  me  take  your  measure.  \_He  takes  WHET- 
STONE'S measure  with  a  tape-line. ~\ 

WHETSTONE. 

Do  you  think  you  can  take  my  measure  for  a  suitable 
character  suit  with  your  puny  tape-line?  Put  up  your  line, 
and  search  Flatpuddle  Smith's  Biography  of  Great  Men,  — 
although  I  must  say  there  are  in  that  book  some  of  the  big- 
gest measures  of  the  littlest  men  on  earth  ;  and  besides,  old 
Heavyweight,  who  made  his  fortune  putting  sand  in  sugar,  is 
on  the  first  page.  They  asked  for  sugar,  and  he  sandpapered 
them.  It  '11  go  rough  with  him.  Peter  Punch,  listen  to  my 

69 


The  Merchant  Prince 

measure.  I  'm  a  merchant  prince,  Mayor  Whetstone,  from 
Cornville,  near  the  capital  of  Illinois,  called  Hercules  after 
my  grand-uncle  Hercules,  who  drove  the  Indians  down  the 
Mississippi. 

PUNCH  [presenting  a  robe~\. 

This  is  the  robe  that  Julius  Caesar  wore  when  he  did  thrice 
refuse  the  crown  up  at  the  Capitol. 

WHETSTONE. 

Why  did  he  refuse  it  ?    Did  n't  it  fit  him  ?     I  don't  want 
that. 

PUNCH  presenting  a  suit], 

This  is  a  suit  worn  by  a  shepherd  boy  as  he  tends  his 
flocks,  —  young  Norval's  suit. 

WHETSTONE. 

Confound  you  !     Do  you  think  I  want  to  be  a  shepherd 
boy,  and  herd  sheep  ? 

PUNCH  [presenting  another  suif\. 
This  is  the  suit  of  a  Highlander. 

WHETSTONE. 
That 's  high-sounding.     Let  me  see  it.     What 's  this  ? 

PUNCH. 

That  goes  around  the  waist  like  a  petticoat. 

70 


of  Cornville. 

WHETSTONE. 
Where  's  the  other  part  ? 

PUNCH. 
There  is  none. 

WHETSTONE. 

Take  back  your  Highlander.  [PuNCH  winks.']  Stop 
winking ! 

PUNCH. 

Goodness  gracious  !  you  surprises  me  so.  But  here,  mine 
friend.  This  is  a  suit  of  King  Richard  the  Lion-Heart,  who 
slew  thousands  of  Saracens  in  one  day. 

WHETSTONE. 

Why  did  n't  they  stop  him,  the  old  villain  ?  Peter  Punch, 
you  may  as  well  put  down  both  shutters  over  your  eyes. 
Business  is  closed.  [Going. 

PUNCH. 

Wait,  wait,  mine  dear  friend  ;  I  have  a  beautiful  suit  of 
armor,  magnificent !  I  saves  it  for  you.  I  keeps  it  wrapped 
up.  It  is  the  suit  of  a  grand  knight-errant.  [Takes  covering 
from  mounted  suit  of  armor. ~\ 

WHETSTONE. 

Ah,  that's  something  like  the  thing.  The  business  we  are 
on  is  a  sort  of  a  night  errand.  What  line  of  business  was 
he  in  ?  Did  he  travel  much  at  night  ? 

71 


The  Merchant  Prince 

PUNCH. 

Mine  friend,  you  is  mistaken.  The  knight-errant  was  a 
great  man  who  went  around  foreign  countries  clad  in  a  suit 
of  mail,  rescuing  beautiful  damsels,  over  seven  hundred 

years  ago. 

WHETSTONE. 

So  long  ago  as  that  ?  His  clothes  must  be  a  little  rusty  ; 
but  you  can  rub  them  well.  You  don't  say  the  suit  is 
seven  hundred  years  old  ? 

PUNCH. 
Over  seven  hundred  years,  mine  friend  \winking\. 

WHETSTONE. 

Major,  what  would  they  say  if  they  knew  of  this  in 
Cornville  ?  So  the  old  rascal  used  to  go  around  in  the 
night,  rescuing  beautiful  damsels ;  and  they  called  them 
night  errands  !  Did  n't  he  rescue  the  ugly  damsels  too? 

PUNCH. 
History  is  silent,  mine  friend. 

WHETSTONE. 

Well,  I  do  declare!  I'll  keep  up  his  trade.  I'll  build 
up  the  old  industry  on  these  shores,  and  I  '11  make  it  hum. 

PUNCH. 

I  have  English,  French,  Spanish,  and  other  cheaper 
kinds  ;  but  I  '11  give  you  the  suit  of  a  grand  German  knight- 
errant,  because  he  was  a  great  Teuton. 

72 


of  Cornville. 

WHETSTONE. 

What  is  the  rent  to-night  for  the  so-called  Teuton  knight 
errant  ? 

PUNCH. 

You  shall  have  him  cheap.  I  will  calculate.  One  cent 
a  year,  one  dollar  for  each  hundred  years,  —  seven  dollars, 
mine  friend. 

WHETSTONE. 

Isn't  that  tooting  it  rather  high  for  a  night  errand? 

PUNCH. 

Mine  friend,  the  Teuton  knight-errant  was  the  most  sub- 
stantial and  high-toned. 

WHETSTONE. 

Substantial  and  high-toned  !  I  '11  invest.  I  '11  wake  up 
your  old  Teuton  knight-errant,  and  make  him  hum. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.  —  A  street.     Evening.     JACK,  disguised  as  an  ape, 
on  bis  way  to  the  masquerade. 

Enter  FOPDOODLE  and  TOM,  his  valet. 

FOPDOODLE. 

By  Jove,  what  is  it  ?  — Tom,  my  man,  stand  firm.  — 
Audacious  creature  !  So  much  hair  on  it,  you  know.  I  'd 
kindly  thank  you  for  your  card. 

73 


The  Merchant  Prince 

JACK. 

Apes  and  conundrums,  having  been  made  before  pockets, 
do  not  carry  their  cards.  Did  you  ever  husk  an  ear  of  corn  ? 

FOPDOODLE. 
Audacious  beast !     Fopdoodle  's  no  farmer. 

JACK. 

Then  how  do  you  expect  to  husk  me  by  the  ear  ?  For 
the  ear  of  an  ape  stands  higher  than  a  vegetable. 

FOPDOODLE. 
What  a  misapplication  of  terms  ! 

JACK. 
Why  did  you  not  bring  your  shell  with  you  ? 

FOPDOODLE. 

What  shell  ? 

JACK. 

The  shell  of  a  goose-egg.  Go  get  it,  and  put  yourself  in 
it,  or  I  '11  make  an  omelet  of  you  by  assault  and  battery. 

[Moving  around  FOPDOODLE. 

FOPDOODLE. 

By  Jove,  you  're  a  ferocious  ape.  I  '11  have  you  arrested. 
Ho,  there  !  Oh.,  policeman,  come  at  once,  I  pray  you,  and 
quell  this  riot.  Come,  I  command  you.  But  he  don't 

74 


of  Cornville. 

come.  What  an  abominable  government  we  do  have !  If 
we  had  a  king,  then  I  'd  be  protected,  —  a  nice,  sweet  king ! 
Then,  you  know,  I  'd  go  to  court ;  then  I  'd  be  My  Lord 
Fopdoodle.  Oh,  I  'd  dearly  love  a  king. 

JACK. 
What  would  you  do  if  an  enemy  arose  ? 

FOPDOODLE. 

Why,  then  the  king  would  say:  Upon  the  breeze  that 
blows  upon  the  borders  of  my  land,  I  sniff  the  enemy.  My 
lord,  my  good  and  trusty  Lord  Fopdoodle,  hasten.  Gather 
two  hundred  thousand  men  or  so  of  our  confiding  yeomanry 
and  stanchest  citizens.  Go  put  the  enemy  down.  —  And  I 
would  do  it. 

JACK. 

But  suppose  he  would  n't  stay  down  ? 

FOPDOODLE. 

Tom,  my  man,  stand  firm.  —  When  a  king  puts  an  enemy 
down,  he  puts  him  under  ground. 

JACK. 

How  would  you  raise  the  cash  ? 

FOPDOODLE. 

If  I  saw  the  treasury  running  low,  I  'd  rise  and  thus  address 
the  throne  of  majesty  :  Of  late,  most  able  king,  thy  servant, 

75 


The  Merchant  Prince 

Lord  Fopdoodle,  whom  thou  hast  ennobled,  hath  observed 
sundry  of  his  former  friends,  shopkeepers,  swelling  with 
wealth  and  aping  his  nobility.  I  '11  strip  them  of  their  tow- 
ering ambition  by  taking  off  the  goods  from  their  top  shelves. 
And  then  the  king  would  say,  Good  my  lord,  thou  art  aright ; 
go  thou  and  do  it.  And  I  would  go  and  do  it. 

JACK. 
Would  you  have  any  whims  ? 

FOPDOODLE. 

Would  n't  I  have  whims  !  —  Tom,  my  man,  stand  firm.  — 
Thousands  of  them.  If  a  king  and  his  lords  can't  have  their 
whims,  they  're  not  so  good  as  other  people  are.  Some  day, 
when  the  king  was  in  a  right  good  humor,  I  would  say: 
Your  valiant  Majesty,  an  ape  doth  offend  me  much.  I  have 
a  whim.  I  crave  a  boon,  my  liege,  a  boon,  my  sovereign  ; 
and  he  would  say,  I'll  grant  it  thee.  Then  I  would  say,  I 
thank  thee,  good  my  sovereign.  I  would  that  all  the  apes  in 
thy  kingdom  were  destroyed.  And  he  would  say,  Take  this 
my  signet  ring,  and  let  them  perish. 

JACK. 
And  you  would  kill  poor  Jack  ? 

FOPDOODLE. 

Are  you  Jack  ?  Mr.  Northlake's  own  son  Jack,  and  cousin 
to  beautiful  Miss  Violet?  Why,  Jack,  I  could  love  even  an 
ape  if  he  were  cousin  to  the  beautiful  Miss  Violet. 

76 


of  Cornville. 

JACK. 

Would  you  cozen  an  ape  ? 

FOPDOODLE. 

[Aside]  I  '11  steal  into  Miss  Violet's  secret  heart  through 
this  half-open,  half-witted  gate  of  a  cousin.  [Aloud]  I  'm  in 
love.  Help  me,  Jack.  About  the  king,  good  Jack,  I  was 
but  joking  ;  and  if  I  were  married  to  Miss  Violet,  and  were 
the  king's  lord,  I  would  not  hurt  a  hair  on  an  ape's  body. 
Oh,  she's  a  sweet  conundrum;  a  rose  is  a  conundrum,— 
why,  I  'm  a  sweet  conundrum  myself.  Jack,  you  're  a  stun- 
ning good  fellow,  an  awfully  good  ape.  Let  me  stroke  ape's 
hair. 

JACK. 

Paws  off!  You  Miss  my  cousin,  but  she  '11  not  miss  you. 
I  represent  to-night  a  missing  link  which  were  well  found  in 
you.  I 'm  in  full  dress, —  Nature's  regulation  costume  for 
the  ape;  but  you  commit  a  barefaced  outrage  with  your  ape's 
nature  minus  the  hair.  Meet  me  at  the  masquerade. 

[Going. 

FOPDOODLE. 

Tom,  my  man,  stand  firm! — Don't  go,  Jack.  —  I'll  go 
too. 

[Exeunt. 


77 


The  Merchant  Prince 

SCENE  V.  —  VIOLET'S  boudoir,  dimly  lighted. 
Enter  NORTHLAKE,  with  domino  on  his  arm,  reading  a  book. 

NORTHLAKE. 

Not  yet  !  still  in  her  dressing-room.     To-night 
Fortune  shall  win  a  prize  more  delicate 
Than  are  the  velvet  leaves  of  fabled  roses. 
For  years  my  mind's  best  nutriment  has  come 
By  night,  —  and  what  of  night  ?     I  '11  think  on  it, 
While  Violet  arrays  herself  for  this 
Night's  masquerade.     It  would  be  right  in  me 
To  fancy  night  as  a  black  sea  in  space, 
That  hath  circumference  and  depth,  and  through 
Whose  clouded  elements  grim-visaged  hawks 
Do  sleekly  plunge  like  fishes  in  the  sea, 
Seeking  their  prey ;  and  all  upon  the  earth 
Dwell  on  the  floor  of  this  aerial  sea, 
And  thence  look  longingly  at  moon  and  stars. 
Oh,  hasten,  sun,  drive  back  this  monstrous  tide 
Of  night !     See  how  these  trembling  night-lights  throb 
With  the  sun's  offices.     Ten  million  such 
Could  not  burn  up  a  solitary  rood, 
Nor  make  partition  for  a  vaulted  league 
Of  this  black  night.     But  I  '11  not  rail  against 
The  gentle  night  ;  for  often  doth  it  bear 
A  princely  offering  to  Mammon's  shrine. 
But  come,  my  niece,  my  gentle  Violet, 

78 


of  Cornville. 

Make  haste ;  the  hours  halt  not  for  lagging  maids, 
Nor  fortune  either. 

VIOLET  [within]. 

Patience,  my  good  uncle, 

NORTHLAKE. 

What  is  this  vaunted  love  that  so  doth  set 

The  world  on  edge  ?     'Tis  but  the  kindled  rapture 

Of  selfishness,  that  joys  to  see  its  double, 

Its  fond  endearment,  its  sweet  concord,  and 

Reflection  in  another.     While  love  is  true, 

Two  doubles  come,  both  blent  in  one,  in  love's 

Bright  mirror  ;  but  when  fails  the  endearing  bond 

Of  selfishness,  the  passions,  then  two  natures 

Rudely  clash  therein,  and  love  sees  double, 

Like  to  an  eye  disordered.     Wonderful 

Nature  is  solved  as  easily  as  a  scholar 

Doth  solve  his  problem  on  the  wall,  when  lo ! 

The  master's  back  is  turned,  and  stealthily 

He  peeps  into  the  key.     O  Selfishness, 

Thou  art  the  key  to  all  the  operations 

Of  all  this  globe,  —  all  men  and  animals, 

And  all  the  garniture  of  fields  and  forests. 

Oft  thou  art  hideous  ;  then  thou  art  distorted, 

As  is  a  lovely  body  racked  by  torture ; 

But  in  thy  true  and  fair  proportioned  self 

Thou  'rt  beautiful  as  beauty,  and  as  wise 

79 


The  Merchant  Prince 

As  wisdom.     Thou  art  plentiful  as  color, 
Sound,  motion  ;  and  without  thee  Nature  would 
Eclipse  herself  in  stark  and  blank  oblivion. 
Learn  early  this  misfortune  :   Envy  and  Hate 
Live  on  good  fortune.  .  .  .       Not  ready  yet  ! 
I  '11  knock  upon  the  door  \knocking\.     Fair  Violet, 
Make  haste,  or  we  '11  be  late. 

VIOLET  [within"]. 
Presently,  good  uncle. 

NORTHLAKE. 

Dimly  these  lights  do  burn,  as  if  this  boudoir 
A  cloister  were  j  but  these  fair  ornaments, 
Arranged  in  chaste  profusion,  show  a  maiden 
Mind  dwells  here  that  doth  delight  in  beauty. 
Yonder,  enshrined  with  wreaths  of  evergreen 
And  immortelles,  a  precious  picture  hangs,  — 
Her  mother  and  my  sister,  looking  most 
Pityingly  on  me.      What  is  this  ?     Why,  here 's 
The  carven  image  of  a  maid  at  prayer  ; 
And  here's  a  tender  picture  of  a  youth 
And  maiden  in  a  flower-garden,  done 
In  placid  oils  upon  a  patch  of  canvas. 
Methinks  the  artist  had  done  better  had 
He  put  here  in  the  corner  of  the  picture 
Some  quaint  and  curious  demon,  peeping  o'er 
The  garden  wall.     Why,  looking  at  these  toys, 
So  fitting  for  a  maiden's  bower,  almost 

80 


of  Cornville. 

Moves  me  from  my  purpose.      Must  all  these 

Vanish  ?     Will  not  some  angel  answer  me  ? 

No  ;   Heaven  answers  not  a  bankrupt's  prayer. 

My  fortune  and  her  fortune  swallowed  in 

The  hideous  maw  of  speculation  ;  both 

Banished,  completely  banished  !     Why,  I  'd  rather 

Be  exiled  from  my  country  than  my  fortune. 

But  all,  all  is  not  lost.      She  hath  a  girlish 

Beauty  and  a  heart  most  rare  ;  and  in 

This  age  of  rude  massed  gold  there  's  value  in  it. 

A  heaven-dowered  woman  hath  an  alchemy 

That  can  refine  base  gold.     The  bargain  's  good.  .  . 

Ninon,  is  not  thy  lady  nearly  ready  ? 

NINON  [within]. 

My  lady  does  demur  to  wear  ze  dress, 
And  says  she  'd  rather  be  plain  Violet. 

NORTHLAKE. 

Thy  scruples,  Violet,  are  pretty  whims  ; 
But  more  become  a  simpering  maid  than  thy 
Chaste  self.      \_Asidi\  Alas,  the  plague  of  poverty  ! 
\_Alou<r\  Thou  dost  obedient  service  to  thy  guardian 
Uncle,  and  mayst  save  him  from  a  plague 
That 's  worse  than  all  the  plagues  that  e'er  beset 
The  town  of  Coventry. 

VIOLET  [within]. 

Plague  take  the  costume !     I  do  not  like.it. 
6  Si 


The  Merchant  Prince 

NORTHLAKE. 

Let  me  turn  up  these  lights  —  the  jewel 's  from 

[Turning  up  the  lights. 

Its  casket  brought.     I  keep  no  false  coin  in 
My  house,  no  cunning  mockery,  no  smirking 
Counterfeit.     Why,  he  shall  own,  and  rightly 
Own,  that  she,  in  bodily  volition, 
Movement,  and  gesture,  well  doth  match  a  mind 
That 's  matchless. 

Enter  VIOLET  infancy  costume,  and  NINON  carrying  domino. 

VIOLET. 
Dear  uncle,  art  thou  pleased? 

NORTHLAKE. 

Why,  thou  art  richly  worth  his  gold,  were  his 
Possessions  fabulous. 

VIOLET. 

Whose  gold,  good  uncle  ? 
Thou  speakest  strangely. 

NORTHLAKE. 

I  did  but  jest  a  trifle. 

VIOLET. 

Give  me  thy  arm,  good  uncle.     I  '11  tease  thee. 

[Taking  his  arm. 

I  do  mistrust  thou  'dst  sell  me  in  this  costume  j 

82 


of  Cornville. 

For  Ninon,  chatting  as  we  dressed,  and  humoring 
Me,  did  say  that  often  thus  they  sell 
Circassian  maids  unto  the  Turk. 

NORTHLAKE. 
Nay,  't  is  but  idle  prattle  in  Ninon. 

VIOLET. 

Dear  uncle,  let  Ninon  companion  be 
To  me  to-night, 

NORTHLAKE. 
If 't  is  thy  merry  wish. 

VIOLET. 
I  thank  thee,  my  dear  uncle. 

NORTHLAKE  \_taking  domino  from  NINON  and  putting  it 
on  VIOLET]. 

Give  me  the  domino.     Thou  'It  wear  it  on 
Thy  passage  to  the  ball.      It  is  a  shield 
Which,  laid  aside,  thy  beauty's  peerless  might 

Shall  conquer  all. 

[  Curtain. 


The  Merchant  Prince 


Act  the  Third. 

SCENE  I.  —  A  masquerade.     Musicians  playing.     Maskers 
moving  about. 

Enter  WHETSTONE  and  BLUEGRASS  in  masquerade 
costume. 

WHETSTONE. 
Major,  have  we  any  parallels  for  this  ? 

BLUEGRASS. 

Millions  of  parallels.  Nature  loves  a  masquerade  as  much 
as  she  abhors  a  vacuum. 

WHETSTONE. 

See  if  my  character  is  loose.  It  feels  like  slipping  down 
over  my  boots. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Hold  on  to  your  character ;  never  let  it  slip,  or  all  is  lost. 
Remember,  you  are  a  Teuton  knight-errant  of  the  Horn  of 
Plenty,  and  I  am  Rainbow,  your  squire.  The  ancient  warrior 
Achilles  carried  a  shield  with  amazing  scenes  beaten  thereon. 

WHETSTONE. 

I  can  beat  Achilles'  shield  all  hollow.  I  've  brought  my 
album,  with  photographs  of  my  houses,  stores,  banks,  farms, 

84 


of  Cornville. 

academy,  and  prize  cattle.  Here  it  is.  [Displaying  a  large 
album.]  But  come,  my  boy,  again  explain.  Why  am  I 
called  the  Horn  of  Plenty  ? 

BLUEGRASS. 

Horn  of  Plenty  signifies  wealth.  Remember,  we  are  now 
walking  in  a  romance,  and  explanations  are  like  stumbling- 
blocks  in  a  dream.  One  must  imagine  more  than  he  sees. 

Enter  SCYTHE  with  glass,  examining  WHETSTONE,  and 
especially  JACK,  among  the  masquer  aders. 

WHETSTONE. 

Then  she  might  imagine  I  was  a  dinner-horn,  a  trombone- 
horn,  a  tooting-horn,  the  moon's  horn,  a  horned  beast,  or 
some  other  horn,  or  that  I  took  a  horn  as  a  matter  of  busi- 
ness. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Don't  talk  of  business ;  stick  to  your  character. 

WHETSTONE. 

Confound  you,  my  boy  !  I  am  sticking  to  my  character, 
and  my  character  sticks  to  me.  I  feel  like  a  rooster  in  an 
iron  nightgown. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Solid  in  solid. 

WHETSTONE. 

I  'm  the  only  one  here  who  seems  to  have  his  clothes 
riveted  and  anchored  to  him. 

85 


The  Merchant  Prince 

BLUEGRASS. 

Hold  !  you  must  talk  in  the  language  of  knight-errantry  : 
My  sweet,  fair,  or  beauteous  lady,  wilt  tread  a  measure  in 
the  dance  ?  I  am  listed  in  the  tournament  of  love.  —  Some- 
thing in  that  strain. 

WHETSTONE. 

Will  my  clothes  bear  the  strain  ? 

BLUEGRASS. 

Seemingly,  but  if  you  should  feel  rusty,  either  in  character 
or  memory,  ask  me  to  polish  you  ;  for  such  is  my  traditional 
duty  as  your  faithful  squire. 

Enter  NORTHLAKE,  VIOLET,  and  NINON. 

WHETSTONE  [observing  VIOLET]. 

Oh,  ho!  look  there,  Major,  my  boy,  —  there  comes  the 
prize  of  the  market.  She  's  pretty  as  a  pet  kitten.  She  's 
sweet  as  a  box  of  honey.  She 's  worth  a  barrel  of  money. 
I  wish  it  were  Violet;  I'd  throw  in  the  farm  on  Pearl 
Creek. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Steady,  steady  ;  hang  on  to  your  character ! 

CATHARINE  [recognizing  BLUEGRASS]. 

\_Aside~\  That  is  he  with  the  blue  ribbon.  I  '11  hail  this 
rainbow.  [Aloud}  Sir  Rainbow,  you  make  fair  promises,  and 
keep  them  fairly. 

86 


of  Cornville. 

BLUEGRASS. 
Rainbows  bespeak  fair  weather  and  fair  maids. 

CATHARINE. 

You  have  bespoken  fair  weather  with  bright  words,  and 
you  shall  bespeak  a  fair  maid  with  bright  eyes,  as  I  promised 
you  to-day  on  the  seashore. 

BLUEGRASS. 
Oh,  where  is  she  ? 

CATHARINE. 

Yonder  she  stands  while  the  fates  work  her  destiny, — 
the  fair  Ninon.  Come,  give  me  your  arm. 

[They  join  NINON. 

WHETSTONE. 

Going,  going,  gone  ;  knocked  down  to  the  first  bidder ! 
What  a  weakness  he  has  developed  for  women  ! 

NORTHLAKE. 

[Aside]  Why,  that's  the  voice  of  Mayor  Whetstone.  I  '11 
address  him.  [Aloud]  Ho,  most  gallant  knight,  thy  squire 
hath  left  thee  in  a  lonesome  plight ! 

WHETSTONE. 

I  am  the  so-called  Teuton  knight  of  the  Horn  of  Plenty. 
Do  you  know  me  ? 

8? 


The  Merchant  Prince 

NORTHLAKE. 

Have  you  the  mettle  of  the  true  knight  ? 

WHETSTONE. 

I  'm  covered  with  metal  seven  hundred  years  old.  North- 
lake,  I  know  you  !  Where  is  she  ? 

NORTHLAKE. 

Yonder,  with  her  maid.  Go,  woo  and  win  the  lady.  You 
could  not  have  chosen  a  better  suit  in  which  to  press  your 
suit. 

WHETSTONE. 

She  shall  be  mine,  and  you  shall  be  rewarded.  [To  VIOLET.] 
Beauteous  lady,  I  am  the  resplendent  knight  of  the  Horn  of 
Plenty,  [dside]  What 's  the  rest  ?  [Aloud}  Please  wait  a 
moment  till  I  see  my  squire. 

\He  goes  to' consult  with  BLUEGRASS. 

NORTHLAKE. 

He  is  the  antipodes  of  that  ancient  gentleman  whose  dress 
he  wears.  But,  alas  !  the  rudest  oft  give  most  thanks  for  a 
gentle  wife,  and  he  '11  make  her  a  comfortable  husband.  To 
do  this,  some  would  say  was  villanous  in  me ;  but  't  is  a 
convenient  fashion.  Wealth  is  a  rude  mountain,  from  which 
the  gentle  win  gentle  treasures.  The  Decorator  of  the  fields 
hath  placed  the  flower  and  sturdy  plant  side  by  side,  and  the 
one  doth  shield  the  other.  From  dankest  earth  the  whitest 

88 


of  Cornville. 

lily  grows ;  from  keen-edged  sands  the  fairest  blossom  blows. 
E'en  frozen  clods  have  flowers,  and  flowers  their  frozen 
clods. 

WHETSTONE  [returning  to  VIOLET]  . 

Wilt  tread  a  measure  with  me?     I  am  listed  in  the  tour- 
nament of  love. 

VIOLET. 

Thy  words  bespeak  a  gallant  knight.    I  '11  grant  thy  wish. 

NORTHLAKE   [to  CATHARINE], 

I  pray  thee  for  a  partner. 

A  dance.  WHETSTONE  and  VIOLET,  BLUEGRASS  and  NINON, 
NORTHLAKE  and  CATHARINE  ;  SCYTHE  inspects  JACK 
with  his  glass  and  takes  him  for  a  partner. 

[  Curtain. 


SCENE  II.  —  A  balcony. 
Enter  WHETSTONE  and  VIOLET. 

VIOLET. 

Sir  Knight  of  the  Horn  of  Plenty,  did  thy  grand-uncle  slay 

the  Indians  ? 

WHETSTONE. 

All  of  them.     The  banks  of  the  Mississippi  were  covered. 
He  had  hired  soldiers  under  him  who  harvested  their  scalps 

89 


The  Merchant  Prince 

while  he  slew  them.  In  my  life  in  Flatpudclle  Smith's  Biog- 
raphy of  Great  Aden,  you  will  find  him  given  as  my  great 
collateral  ancestor. 

VIOLET. 
Thy  family  is  warlike,  but  surely  thou  art  a  gentle  knight. 

WHETSTONE. 

Oh,  I  'm  gentle  now ;  but  if  one  of  those  savage  Indians 
rose  up  against  me,  I  'd  heap  this  illustrated  album  of  civili- 
zation, like  a  burning  coal,  upon  his  head  !  Do  you  know, 
when  I  was  in  Europe  they  offered  to  make  me  a  reigning 
prince  —  if  I  'd  pay  for  it.  There  were  several  vacant 
thrones,  and  I  was  about  making  a  bid,  when  my  gigantic 
business  interests  called  me  back  to  Cornville,  and  the  throne 
fell  through. 

VIOLET. 

When  you  were  in  Europe,  did  you  visit  Rome  ? 

WHETSTONE. 

Passed  through  in  the  night-time,  and  did  n't  stop.  No 
business  done  there  ;  only  a  lot  of  fellows  cutting  figures  in 
stone,  and  painting  pictures  under  the  old  masters. 

VIOLET. 

'Tis  cruel  in  thee  to  jest  so.  Thy  figure  shows  a  gallant 
knight,  and  thou  dost  speak  by  contraries  to  make  thy  show- 
ing finer.  How  doth  the  moon  shine  in  Europe  ? 

90 


of  Cornville. 

WHETSTONE. 
The  same  old  moon. 

VIOLET. 
'T  is  very  fair. 

WHETSTONE. 

Why,  there  is  the  so-called  fair  moon  now,  sure  enough ! 
[Looking  at  the  moon.']  It  shines  like  a  new  tin  pan. 

VIOLET. 

The  moon  shines  on  thy  armor,  and  thou  thyself  dost 
shine  like  a  new  tin  pan. 

WHETSTONE. 

There  's  the  new  moon,  the  quarter  moon,  the  full  moon, 
and  the  dark  of  the  moon.  The  moon  is  good  enough  in  its 
place. 

VIOLET. 

Why,  where  is  the  moon's  place,  if  not  in  heaven  ? 

WHETSTONE. 
In  the  almanac. 

VIOLET. 

Why,  gallant  knights  and  lovers  gather  substantial  suste- 
nance from  moonlight.  'T  is  prescribed  by  Heaven  and 
the  poets.  And  thou  revilest  the  moon?  Thou  art  a  traitor 
to  nature.  Thy  best  place  were  in  an  almanac,  in  the  dark 
of  the  moon,  in  the  sign  of  Capricorn. 

91 


The  Merchant  Prince 

WHETSTONE. 

Off  with  the  mask  !  \_Removes  head-piece."]  Behold  the 
real  Honorable  Mayor  Whetstone,  Merchant  Prince  of 
Cornville,  near  the  capital  of  Illinois ;  called  Hercules  after 
his  real  grand-uncle  Hercules,  who  drove  the  real  Indians 
reeling  down  the  real  Mississippi.  Do  you  follow  me  ? 

VIOLET. 
Heaven  guide  me  in  this  whirlwind  of  contraries ! 

WHETSTONE. 
Take  yours  off,  too. 

VIOLET. 

As  I  hate  disguises,  and  this  moonlight  is  a  gentle  vapor, 
I'll  unmask  without  more  argument.  [She  unmasks. 

WHETSTONE. 

Beauteous  Violet,  you  are  my  future  wife.  Let,  oh,  let 
me  take  a  kiss. 

VIOLET. 

Our  acquaintance  is  too  brief  for  a  jest  so  durable. 

WHETSTONE. 

Come,  no  one  sees  us.  Just  one  little  kiss.  [Enter 
SCYTHE,  looking  at  them  through  his  glass. ~]  Professor,  get 
out !  Take  notes,  hunt  specimens,  and  shelve  your  knowl- 
edge;  but  never  let  me  see  you  here  again.  [To  VIOLET] 
Did  not  your  uncle  tell  you  ?  [Exit  SCYTHE. 

92 


of  Cornville. 

VIOLET. 

Why,  thou  art  a  sportive  knight,  indeed.  Oh,  thou  art  a 
deep  dissembler !  But,  no,  thou  art  a  gallant  knight !  This 
is  some  stratagem  of  words  and  dress,  invented  by  my  good 
uncle  for  my  diversion.  If  thou  wilt  keep  a  secret,  I  will 
tell  it  thee. 

WHETSTONE. 

I  '11  keep  it.     But,  oh,  how  I  'd  like  a  kiss  ! 

VIOLET. 

Kissing  is  an  idle  fashion  but  lightly  spoken  of  by  our  best 
authors,  and  well  missed  by  young  misses.  But  to  my  secret. 
This  morn  my  uncle  told  me  in  the  orchard  that  he  had 
chosen  for  me  a  lover,  —  a  most  substantial  gentleman,  a 
very  merchant  prince  —  [Pauses. 

WHETSTONE. 
Go  on  ;  give  me  all  your  secret. 

VIOLET. 

Why,  thou  art  he  in  name  and  title ;  but  I  know  thou  art 
not,  from  thy  discord  in  guise,  speech,  and  action  ;  and  thou 
dost  carry  out  a  jest  too  literally  with  thy  contraries. 

WHETSTONE. 

I  swear  I  am  the  real  he.  See,  here  is  my  album  !  [Open- 
ing album.']  Here  is  my  picture,  in  my  shirt-sleeves,  before 
my  store.  See  the  sign  above  the  door :  Hercules  Whet- 

93 


The  Merchant  Prince 

stone's  Gigantic  Store.  Here 's  my  banking-house.  See, 
see !  Now,  do  you  believe  and  love  me  ?  Be  my  wife,  and 
I  '11  bind  the  bargain  with  a  kiss. 

VIOLET. 

Surely  thou  art  the  prince  of  jesters  ;  and  if 't  is  thy  humor, 
in  part  I  '11  not  deny  thee ;  but  no  maid  should  bind  a  bar- 
gain with  betrothal  kiss  until  she  knows  the  true  worth  of  it. 
Hast  thou  any  castles  in  thy  domain  ? 

WHETSTONE. 

Castles  ?  Why,  I  own  the  half  of  Cornville.  See  [showing 
the  album\,  here 's  my  town-house.  I  '11  have  its  hall  set  in 
solid  mahogany.  Then  we  '11  be  the  Honorable  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Mayor  Whetstone,  of  Mahogany  Hall,  Cornville, 
solid  people,  —  if  you  like,  in  our  castle. 

VIOLET. 

When  thou  dost  in  a  day  change  thy  house  into  a  castle, 
then  it  will  have  a  gallant  knight. 

Enter  FOPDOODLE  concealing  himself. 

WHETSTONE  [showing  a  picture  in  the  album], 

See,  this  is  my  stately  dairy  farm.  Yonder  pearly  stream 
that  through  the  middle  of  the  farm  doth  run  and  wind  about, 
and  then  run  in  and  out  as  if  't  were  playing  tag  between  its 
wave-kissed  banks,  is  called  Pearl  Creek.  It  is  a  curious 

94 


of  Cornville. 

stream.  Here,  once,  the  wild  goose,  while  he  plucked  the 
toothsome  grass  from  its  banks  of  verdure,  listened  to  an 
Indian  maid.  Here,  beneath  this  spacious  sycamore,  we'll 
sit  and  fish  for  speckled  trout ;  I  '11  bait  the  hook.  And 
when  'tis  winter  we'll  skate  upon  it.  See  yonder  latticed 
arbor  perched  upon  the  bank :  it  is  the  hen-house,  with  hens 
and  their  companions  from  many  lands.  Here  will  we  gather 
eggs  through  all  the  seasons  ;  and  to  have  fresh  eggs  in  win- 
ter is  no  mean  luxury.  See  yonder  moss-covered  house  of 
stone  picturesquely  wading  in  the  water.  It  is  the  milk- 
house,  with  all  its  crocks  of  golden  cream.  Here,  with 
sparkling  water,  without  a  murmur  from  the  world,  we  '11 
fill  our  crocks  of  fortune  to  the  brim.  Here,  amid  these 
scenes  of  thrift  and  beauty,  bustling  hens,  pensive  geese, 
lowing  herds,  crocks  of  cream,  and  gleaming  fishes,  we  '11 
wander  hand  in  hand,  spending  our  full-orbed  honeymoon, 
while  the  rude  outsiders  stare  in  dreamy  wonder  at  so  much 
happiness  on  earth.  Does  not  the  prospect  charm  you? 

VIOLET. 

Do  not  end  thy  bright  illumined  catalogue.     Give  me 

it  all. 

WHETSTONE. 

Give  you  it  all !     I  '11  give  you  your  share,  but  not  all. 
Come,  Violet,  that's  asking  too  much  ! 

FOPDOODLE  [from  his  concealment] . 

Oh  for  a  dagger  to  assassinate  him  !     O  dazzling  Violet ! 

95 


The  Merchant  Prince 

VIOLET. 
Continue. 

WHETSTONE. 

Oh !  Now  we  leave  the  country,  and  come  to  town 
[referring  to  the  album].  Here  is  my  edifice  of  learning, 
my  Cornville  Academy,  my  spring  of  knowledge.  I  own 
the  whole  of  it.  Here's  my  Cornville  Eagle,  which  shall 
brighten  its  plumage  when  we  are  married  ;  and  here  's  my 
Bank,  whose  president  craves  your  hand.  Do  let  me  take 
it  now ;  no  one  is  looking. 

SCYTHE  appears  stealthily  for  a  moment,  observing  them 
with  his  glass. 

VIOLET. 

.  They  who  love  moonlight  must  not  forget  the  man  in  the 
moon ;  and  I  must  first  ask  my  uncle.  But  I  did  not  know 
that  knights  of  late  had  grown  so  rich.  I  must  put  on  my 
spectacles. 

WHETSTONE. 

Bless  me,  are  you  near-sighted  ?     I  '11  come  nearer. 
VIOLET. 

Nay,  at  dawn  I  was  near-sighted,  but  to-night  I  am  far- 
sighted. 

WHETSTONE. 

Bless  me,  I  almost  forgot  it,  —  I  own  half  a  church,  and 
built  the  steeple  out  of  my  own  pocket. 

96 


of  Cornville. 

VIOLET. 
Art  thou  a  pious  knight  ? 

WHETSTONE. 

Heaven  must  have  a  share.  Besides,  it  was  a  sharp 
business  project.  It  is  the  highest  steeple  in  the  State  ;  and 
some  day  I  '11  ride  into  the  governor's  chair  on  it. 

VIOLET. 

Thy  steeple  should  turn  thy  thoughts  to  heaven,  instead 
of  to  the  earth. 

WHETSTONE. 

That  reminds  me  of  the  lightning-rod.  \_Aside\  I  '11  give 
her  a  sample  of  my  business  talents.  \_Aloud~\  A  pedler  one 
day  said  tome:  Mayor  Whetstone,  I  wish  to  introduce  into 
your  community  my  patent  flanged  galvanized  lightning-rods. 
Said  I  to  him,  pointing  to  the  steeple:  Eureka!  Excelsior! 
Do  you  climb?  Do  you  follow  me?  Do  you  donate?  Is 
the  advertisement  worth  the  rod  ?  Will  you  spare  the 
steeple,  and  spoil  the  rod  ?  He  climbed.  He  donated.  Be- 
fore the  next  thunderstorm  he  received  orders  for  over  forty 
rods  from  members  who  were  afraid  the  lightning  would 
strike  their  property  if  they  did  n't  buy  a  rod. 

VIOLET. 

I  much  mistrust  thou'rt  not  a  redoubtable,  but  only  a 
doubtful,  knight. 

7  97 


The  Merchant  Prince 

WHETSTONE  [kneeling], 
Heaven  knows  't  is  true.     I  pray  for  your  hand. 

VIOLET. 

Pray  for  thine  own  heart.  Rise  ;  for  when  thou  kneelest, 
thou  half  liest.  So  stand  up,  and  be  not  prone  to  lie  upon 
thy  knees. 

FOPDOODLE  [from  his  concealment]  . 

Oh,  how  I  want  to  be  a  noble  husband  !  O  dazzling 
Violet!  Oh,  oh! 

WHETSTONE  [rising], 

I  thought  I  heard  some  one  owe  me  something ! 

VIOLET. 
No  one  here  owes  thee  anything.     Take  thy  mind  off 

thy  gains. 

WHETSTONE. 

Let  me  call  your  uncle. 

VIOLET. 
Nay,  thy  jest  in  greed  lacks  no  ingredient. 

WHETSTONE. 

That 's  not  all ;  I  have  more  stores,  houses,  cattle,  stocks, 
barrels  of  money,  stacks  of  it  — 

VIOLET. 
Well,  go  on ;  give  me  it  all. 


of  Cornville. 

WHETSTONE. 
Give  you  it  all  ! 

VIOLET. 
All,  everything. 

WHETSTONE. 

Give  you  it  all  !  That 's  practical.  Who  'd  have 
thought  it  in  one  so  young  ?  Would  you  outwit  me  ? 
Would  you  outmatch  me  ?  Would  you  ruin  me  ? 

VIOLET. 

Thou  art  a  gentle  stupid.  I  only  meant,  give  me  a  descrip- 
tion of  all,  — thy  catalogue  of  all  thou  hast.  Thy  lips  label 
better  thy  goods  than  thy  love. 

WHETSTONE. 
What 's  that  ? 

VIOLET. 

I  insist  upon  all.  I  do  mistrust — for  I'm  no  trusting 
miss  —  that  thou  art  a  poor  ignoble  man  withal,  hired  by  my 
jesting  uncle  withal  to  put  on  this  chivalrous  disguise  withal 
to  jest  with  me  withal.  What  false  knight  art  thou  that  thou 
wilt  not  endow  the  lady  of  thy  love  with  all  thou  dost  pos- 
sess, that  lovest  thy  goods  better  than  love  ?  Thou  art  of 
crude  metal.  Go  to  thy  farm  on  Pearl  Creek  ;  I  do  not 
want  thy  goods. 

WHETSTONE. 

Am  I  dreaming  ? 

99 


The  Merchant  Prince 

FOPDOODLE  \_from  his  concealment]. 

Oh  for  a  carmine  dagger  to  hack,  to  stab,  to  prostrate 
him  !  Oh,  how  I  crave  to  be  a  noble  husband.  O  dazzling 
Violet ! 

VIOLET. 

Thou  hast  kept  from  thy  catalogue  and  basely  concealed 
that  which  loving  knights  and  ladies  prize  the  highest. 

WHETSTONE. 
What  can  it  be  ?  I  '11  buy  it. 

VIOLET. 
'T  were  better  guessed,  for  by  purchase  it  loses  its  value. 

WHETSTONE. 

I  know  nothing  like  it.  But  if  it  be  concealed  and  of  the 
highest  value,  it  must  be  a  gold  mine. 

VIOLET. 
Nay,  thou  gentle  stupid,  try  again. 

WHETSTONE. 

Ah,  now  I  've  got  it.  A  coal  mine.  Why,  Violet,  you 
are  wiser  than  I  thought.  You  look  beneath  the  surface. 
There  is  a  rich  vein  of  coal  beneath  my  farm  ;  but  it 's  not 
worked. 

100 


of  Cornville. 

VIOLET. 

Neither  is  the  vein  of  love  well  worked  by  thee.  Try- 
again,  and  for  lack  of  discovery  and  my  sentence,  thou  shall 
bear  no  complaint  to  my  uncle. 

FOPDOODLE  [from  his  concealment], 
Oh,  let  me  tell !  O  dazzling  Violet ! 

WHETSTONE. 
I  can  think  of  nothing  else  besides. 

VIOLET. 
Put  thy  hand  to  thy  left  side.     Hast  thou  no  heart  ? 

WHETSTONE  [putting  his  hand  over  bis  heart], 
I  have  a  heart ;  and  oh,  I  feel  it  beat  tremendously. 

VIOLET. 

He  is  a  poor  merchant  in  love,  who,  having  a  heart,  hath 
no  value  to  it.  He  's  a  bankrupt  who  can  declare  no  dividend 
unto  his  lady  creditor.  A  true  and  loving  heart  hath  larger 
dividends  than  banks,  richer  harvests  than  farms,  finer  goods 
than  stores,  and  more  happiness  than  all  the  world  besides. 

FOPDOODLE  \_from  his  concealment]. 
O  Violet,  I  've  got  a  heart.     O  dazzling  Violet ! 

101 


The  Merchant  Prince 

VIOLET. 

Methinks  that  soon  the  silver  moon  will  yonder  mantling 
cloud  enrich,  and  leave  thee  a  knight  quite  poor. 

WHETSTONE. 

I  cannot  lose  you.  Your  worth  grows  upon  me  at  the 
rate  of  a  thousand  dollars  a  minute.  [Kneeling]  Here  on 

my  knees  let  me  explain. 

\ 

VIOLET. 

Rise.  I  cannot  help  thee,  although  't  is  sadly  said.  Hadst 
thou  discovered  thy  heart  earlier,  and  put  the  true  worth  of 
a  heart  upon  it,  then  I  had  thought  more  deeply.  But  now, 
alas  !  thy  discovery  comes  too  late.  I  am  a  young  judge, 
yet  my  sentence  shall  be  a  just  one,  and  I  '11  not  revoke  it. 
Thou  art  a  guileful  knight.  I  sentence  thee  to  perpetual 
banishment ;  and  that  thou  mayst  study  the  phases  of  a 
maid's  heart  and  of  the  moon,  I  will  allow  thee  no  book  but 
thy  almanac. 

WHETSTONE. 

Let  the  heavens  hear  me  !  I  am  not  through  yet.  I  have 
a  fearful  fever ! 

VIOLET. 

Maids  are  no  doctors,  except  for  hearts  in  love. 

WHETSTONE. 

Oh,  I  am  in  love,  and  now  I  know  it. 

102 


of  Cornville. 

VIOLET. 

Thy  complaint  comes  too  late.  Be  patient,  but  be  no 
patient  of  mine.  I'll  practice  on  thee  no  further.  Thou 
hast  thy  sentence. 

FOPDOODLE  leaves  his  concealment. 

FOPDOODLE. 

Stay,  you  villain  !  If  I  had  my  dagger,  I  'd  stab  you.  O 
dazzling  Violet ! 

WHETSTONE  [rising]. 
Who  are  you  ? 

FOPDOODLE. 

You  caitiff  knight,  I  am  Augustus  Fopdoodle  and  your 
deadly  rival.  O  dazzling  Violet ! 

WHETSTONE. 

You  rascal  rat !  you  eavesdropper  !  If  I  had  my  knightly 
sword,  I  'd  hack  you  into  a  thousand  pieces  and  make  you 
bait  for  catfish.  Where's  my  sword? 

FOPDOODLE. 

Aha,  vain  boaster!  There  is  my  gage  of  battle;  pick  it 
up.  [Throws  down  a  glove. 

WHETSTONE. 

Pick  it  up  yourself,  you  villain  ! 

103 


The  Merchant  Prince 

VIOLET. 

Hold,  gentlemen,  brave  gentlemen  !  'Twere  a  pity  that 
two  such  gentlemen  should  end  a  harmless  jest  in  sanguinary 
strife.  Come.  Your  brave  humors  make  the  rash  current  of 
your  words  more  harmful  than  your  sword-blades.  Believe 
me.  Come.  [Exeunt  WHETSTONE  and  VIOLET. 

FOPDOODLE. 

I  '11  challenge  him  this  very  night  to  fight  a  duel.  Fop- 
doodle,  thou  art  a  brave  man.  Bless  thee,  Augustus  Fop- 
doodle.  Bless  thee,  O  dazzling  Violet !  I  am  a  terribly 
quick  man,  and  I  should  have  killed  thousands  of  men  had  I 
but  done  it  when  I  thought  to  do  it.  Let  me  think.  —  No, 
I  must  not  think  so  much  upon  the  bloody  deed,  the  grim 
and  horrid  spectacle.  Thinking  cools  me  off  like  an  evap- 
oration ;  yet  truly  there  is  a  manifold  vigor  in  me,  O  daz- 
zling Violet,  else  why  am  I  so  brave  when  heated  ?  Fire 
brings  out  my  bravery.  What  is  the  coward  quality  that 
on  a  sudden  chokes  my  valor  so  ?  I  have  it :  it  comes  of 
too  much  thinking.  Let  me  pluck  it  out. — But  no,  I  can- 
not pluck  out  my  brains  ;  yet  I  will  admonish  my  head  not 
to  think  so  much.  But  still,  thinking  is  wisdom  ;  therefore 
too  much  wisdom  makes  me  a  thinking  coward.  I  must 
cultivate  less  wisdom.  O  dazzling  Violet !  I  '11  send  him 
a  challenge,  and  he'll  not  fight.  A  bloodless  triumph. 
Now  thinking  comes  to  my  rescue.  Animals  have  not  this 
process  of  thinking,  for  I  have  seen  terrible  animals  fight 
ferociously  until  they  were  dead,  dead.  O  dazzling  Violet ! 

104 


of  Cornville. 

Therefore  I  bless  thee,  Augustus  Fopdoodle,  that  thou  hast 
the  spirit -of  bravery;  but  I  do  bless  thee  more  that  thou 
hast  the  process  of  thinking.  I  do  not  think  he  '11  fight. 
O  dazzling  Violet ! 

[Exit. 

SCENE  III.  —  The  same. 

Enter  SCYTHE,  with  glass.  He  seats  himself  in  a  corner^ 
observes  the  moon^  and  takes  notes.  Enter  BLUEGRASS 
and  NINON,  who  do  not  observe  him. 

BLUEGRASS. 

We  have  tripped  into  the  hour  of  midnight,  the  fairies' 
hour.  Now  the  fairest  face,  night-blooming  like  a  mystic 
flower,  may  unmask  its  sweetness. 

NINON. 

Charmant !  Monsieur  Rainbow,  you  delight  me  all  ze 
night. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Here  I  '11  unmask,  for  your  two  eyes  have  kindled  a  flame 
in  my  breast  such  as  could  not  be  lighted  by  all  the  stars 
burning  in  yonder  heavens.  [He  unmasks. 

NINON. 

Monsieur  Rainbow,  you  is  ze  fiery  lover, —  ze  grand 
gentleman.-  Take  away  ze  bad  mask. 

105 


The  Merchant  Prince 

BLUEGRASS. 

In  the  nineteenth  century,  bright  little  sister  of  Venus, 
I  '11  unmask  you.  \He  unmasks  and  kisses  her. 

NINON. 

Tres  joli !  Oh,  Monsieur  Rainbow,  you  is  ze  grand 
American  lover. 

BLUEGRASS. 

You  are  the  sweetest  little  maid  upon  this  magnificent 
star  of  ours. 

NINON. 

Charmant  !  Monsieur,  you  are  ze  Rainbow  more  spark- 
ling zan  ze  wine-cup. 

BLUEGRASS. 

There  is  a  wine  finer  than  that  of  the  grape  to-night. 
Let  this  sparkling  envelope  of  air  be  our  distraction.  See, 
Ninon,  how  it  holds  this  globe  like  a  cup  star-jewelled,  and 
proffered  to  our  senses  with  all  its  myriad  distilments  of 
rapturous  motions,  varied  colors,  gladsome  odors,  and  sweet 
sounds. 

NINON. 

Monsieur  Rainbow,  we  will  drink  from  zat  cup,  and  hunt 
ze  buffalo  in  ze  West.  Magnifique  ! 

BLUEGRASS. 

[Aslde~\  Beautiful  simplicity  !  Arcadia  had  no  better  than 
this  untutored  Parisian.  \_AloucT\  Dear  Ninon,  the  advance- 

106 


of  Cornville. 

guard  and  keen-eyed  pickets  of  civilization  have  driven  the 
buffalo  from  our  future  home  in  Cornville ;  but  you  shall 
have  amusement. 

NINON. 

\_Aside\   Oh,  he  is  ze  grand  American  lover ! 

BLUEGRASS. 

Ninon,  in  Paris  were  you  ever  courted,  —  that  is  to  say, 
were  you  ever  in  a  court  of  love  or  law  ? 

NINON. 

Why,  Major  Bluegrass,  I  did  not  know  ze  court  was  for 
ze  love.  I  thought  ze  court  was  only  for  ze  law. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Give  me  simplicity !  O  Love,  the  entangler,  do  not 
unravel  us  !  Let  no  frog  croak  in  Cornville. 

SCYTHE  takes  a  glance  at  them  through  his  glass. 

NINON. 

Tres  beau  !  Good  Monsieur  Rainbow,  ze  frog  is  ze  great 
beau  in  ze  springtime,  with  his  fine  green  coat  and  gold 

buttons. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Now  I  remember  me,  the  frog  has  a  gallant  look  when  the 
spring  is  in  the  meadows  and  the  banks  are  grassy.  Now  I 
remember  me  more  closely,  he  also  has  a  romantic  look  ;  for 

107 


The  Merchant  Prince 

once,  when  a  boy,  I  watched  him  sitting,  like  a  sybarite 
Turk,  upon  a  dewy  bank  in  the  pale  moonlight,  enjoying  the 
downward  fragrance  of  an  o'erbending  lily,  which  o'er  him 
hung  like  a  wedding  bell.  He  gazed  upon  the  moon  sailing 
above  him,  and  then  upon  the  moon  below  him,  glistening  in 
the  pond  which  was  his  bed,  —  Neptune's  trundle-bed,  made 
for  frogs,  —  until,  between  these  two  perplexities  of  light, 
his  eyes  like  diamonds  shone.  Shall  I  halt  here  ? 

SCYTHE  looks  at  the  earth  and  moon  alternately  with  his 
glass. 

NINON, 

No,  no,  dear  Monsieur;  go  on,  good  Monsieur  Rainbow. 
I  have  ze  grand  interest.  His  eyes  shone  like  ze  diamonds, 
ze  beautiful  diamonds.  Superbe  ! 

BLUEGRASS. 

Well,  his  eyes,  like  twin  solitaires  encrusted  in  rims  of  red 
gold,  shone  more  translucently  than  any  that  e'er  sparkled  in 
the  betrothal  ring  of  an  expectant  bride.  It  seems  this  gen- 
tleman in  green  had  grown  fixedly  practical  between  the  real 
moon  and  the  ideal  moon,  and  would  not  have  an  ideal  when 
he  had  not  the  real ;  for  he,  poor  frog,  like  some  of  our  prac- 
tical humans,  did  not  know  that  the  ideal  moon  in  a  pond 
was  much  finer  than  a  pond  in  the  real  moon.  Now  do  I  see 
him,  as  plainly  as  if  it  were  to-night,  there  coolly  sitting  and 
meditating,  quite  philosophical. 

1 08 


of  Cornville. 

NINON. 

Oui,  oui  ;  zat  was  a  foolish  froggie,  Monsieur  Rainbow. 
Beware  of  ze  philosophy.  Ah,  Major  Bluegrass,  you  have 
ze  fervent  language  zat  thrills  me. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Dear  Ninon,  my  description,  like  your  own  pretty  costume 
with  all  its  frills,  tucks,  and  love-knots,  has  a  moral  with  it. 
Before  this  philosophic  gentleman  in  green  had  reconciled 
himself  to  an  ideal,  a  flying  cloud  curtained  the  moon;  and 
thus  in  his  philosophy  he  let  bright  opportunity  slip,  and 
went  dark  below. 

SCYTHE  discontinues  using  glass. 

NINON. 
Oui,  oui ;  too  true.     I  pity  ze  poor  froggie. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Dear  Ninon,  render  him  no  pity  ;  for  although  I  was  but  a 
green  boy,  I  then  resolved  that  opportunity  was  greater  than 
philosophy.  Ninon,  yonder  glorious  moon  shines  brightly  as 
on  that  memorable  night  in  the  meadows.  'T  is  a  bright 
opportunity  ;  let  me  kiss  thee  again. 

NINON. 

Pardon,  sweet  Monsieur  Rainbow ;  wait  for  ze  grand  oppor- 
tunity when  ze  honeymoon  upon  our  wedding  shines  ;  then 
you  shall  have  ze  thousand  kisses.  Charmant !  [Exeunt. 

109 


The  Merchant  Prince 

SCENE  IV.  —  The  same. 
Enter  NORTHLAKE  and  CATHARINE. 

NORTHLAKE. 

Fair  lady,  I  have  led  thee  to  this  spot, 

Removed  from  all  the  merry  throng  of  maskers  ; 

For  love  grows  best  in  solitude,  and  thrives 

But  poorly  when  too  many  eyes  look  on; 

So  saying,  I  unmask  [unmasking],  and  ask  that  thou 

Wilt  move  that  vestment  from  thy  cheek,  to  whose 

Illumined  page  thine  eyes  are  bright  indexes. 

Pray  let  me  draw  the  envious  curtain  back ; 

For  though  I  've  scored  some  years,  yet  ne'er  't  was  said 

That  I  ungallant  proved. 

CATHARINE. 
Stay  for  a  moment, — I  am  strangely  faint. 

NORTHLAKE. 

The  ball-room's  heat  I  fear  has  wearied  thee. 

[Tenderly  supporting  her. 

CATHARINE  [recovering]. 
Nay,  heed  it  not ;  I  long  have  been  aweary. 

NORTHLAKE. 

Fair  lady,  tenderest  fruit  and  hidden  clings 
Within  its  husk  until  full  season.     Now 

no 


of  Cornville. 

Thou  mayst  remove  thy  mask,  for  in  my  heart 
There  's  sympathy  that  makes  occasion  ripe. 

CATHARINE. 

I  see  thou  art  a  gallant  gentleman  ; 
I'd  converse  hold  with  thee,  but  pray  that  thou 
Wouldst  leave  me  to  my  mask. 

NORTHLAKE. 

Be  it  as  thou  dost  wish  ; 
But  at  the  close  of  our  sweet  interview 
I  beg  thou  wilt  disclose  to  me  the  face 
Of  her  whose  gentle  hand  I  now  do  press 
With  all  the  ardor  of  my  youthful  days. 

CATHARINE. 

Oh,  thou  shalt  have  thy  asking,  never  fear ; 
But  first  thou 'It  answer  questioning,  — 't  is  but 
A  foolish,  idle  question,  yet  thou  mayst 
True  answer  make.      But  to  be  brief:   Didst  ever 
Love  before  ?     Good  gentleman,  I  pray  thee 
Answer  me  truly. 

NORTHLAKE. 
Briefly,  but  once. 

CATHARINE. 

Speak  not  beyond.     I  thank  thee.     Sweeter  sound 
Was  never  borne  upon  the  air  to  woman. 
But  of  this  once  ?     Answer  me  that. 

in 


The  Merchant  Prince 

NORTHLAKE. 

Truly  but  once,  and  once  most  truly,  I 

Did  love  her.  [Pausing.]  Well,  I  '11  pause  no  further  ;  yet 

Her  voice  and  gesture  much  resembled  thine. 

We  parted,  years  ago,  in  sad  estrangement ; 

And  though  within  that  sombre  lapse  of  time 

We  've  often  met,  yet  never  have  we  spoken. 

For  we  indeed  are  to  each  other  —  dead  ! 

CATHARINE. 

Dead  to  each  other  !  'lisa  woful  word 
To  those  who  've  loved.     Thou  fickle  man  !  thou  dost 
Deceive  thyself,  —  for  true  love  never  dies. 
Thy  fate  doth  mirror  mine. 

NORTHLAKE  [taking  her  hand}. 

I  beg  thee  tell  it  me. 

CATHARINE. 

Thou  hold'st  my  hand  close  as  my  husband  did 
Upon  our  wedding  morn,  when  he  did  make 
Such  noble  vows  of  constancy  as  troops 
Of  angels  swift  delight  to  register. 
And  so  we  lived  for  many  happy  years ; 
They  now  do  seem  a  vanished  paradise  ; 
And,  looking  back,  beyond  my  later  years, 
It  seems  to  me  as  fair  as  tender  Eden 
Did  unto  our  first  mother,  Eve.     And  oft 
I  've  wept  most  burning  tears  in  memory 
Of  the  adored  one  who  did  hold  me  there. 

112 


of  Cornville. 

NORTHLAKE. 

Why,  thou  dost  clasp  my  hand  with  feverish  zeal ; 
Let 's  walk  upon  the  cliff. 

CATHARINE. 

Nay,  stay,  and  listen. 

NORTHLAKE. 
I  '11  do  as  thou  desirest. 

CATHARINE. 

Thou  art  a  gallant  gentleman.     I  '11  swift 
Unveil  to  thee  a  heart  that 's  worthier 
Than  is  the  poor  masked  face  thou  pray'st  to  see. 
Oh,  how  can  I  portray  to  thee  my  joy 
When  I  was  wife  and  mother  !     Think  of  it,  — 
For  I  am  sure  thou  art  a  good,  true  man, 
And  gallant  gentleman.  —  In  my  full  flush 
Of  joy  I  was  estranged  from  my  dear  husband, 
Whom  I  did  love  so  well  I  would  have  pledged 
My  soul  upon  his  honor.     Then  I  was  wild 
With  sudden  doubt  and  frenzied  jealousy. 
His  goodness  seemed  but  evil,  —  as  by  the  quick 
Hot-bolted  lightning  blasted,  or  as  poison 
Transforms  the  fairest  ornaments.     In  this 
Mad  frenzy,  at  this  same  hour  of  midnight, 
I  fled  from  him.     Since  then  I  've  been  a  restless 
Wanderer  on  the  earth.     But,  oh  !  on  me 
The  blame  harder  doth  rest  than  it  doth  rest  — 
On  thee ! 

3  113 


The  Merchant  Prince 

NORTHLAKE. 

On  me  ?     Why,  who  art  thou  ? 

CATHARINE  \unmasking] . 

Thy  lady  Catharine. — Thou  gallant  gentleman, 
I  may  again  return  to  thee.     Good-night ! 

[Exit  CATHARINE. 

NORTHLAKE. 

Lost  wife,  return!     'Tis  pitiful !     By  thee 

These  lonely  years  my  life  's  been  haunted.     Once 

In  each  year  thy  visits,  like  untimely 

Seasons,  come  upon  me,  when  and  where 

I  never  know  ;  but  once  in  each  year,  lightening 

My  weary  path.     Mysterious  and  strange, 

Thou  ne'er  before  hast  spoken.     Thou  blameless  Catharine, 

Return.     Our  sins  of  jealousy  have  borne 

Such  fruit  as  grows  from  poisoned  ground  ;  and  yet 

Nor  Time  nor  forcing  Will  can  make  us  what 

We  were  in  our  first  wedded  life.     These  agents 

Are  far  too  weak  ;  they  never  can  restore 

To  us  the  faith  that 's  lost  in  our  past  lives,  — 

Lost  like  a  pearl  dropped  in  dissolving  flame, 

Its  white  and  saintly  fabric  gone  in  a  moment. 

Unhappy  Catharine,  and  thou  my  more 

Unhappy  self!     These  revels  mock  us.     Poor  mask! 

[Lays  flown  bis  mask. 

The  mask  that  hath  been  torn  from  off  my  heart 

114 


of  Cornville. 

This  night  hath  left  a  shadow  tenfold  darker 
Than  is  thine  own.     I  '11  go  seek  Violet, 
For  she  is  like  the  beauteous  sunlit  day. 

[Listening  to  strains  of  music  from  the  ball-room. 
Music  doth  hold  melodious  discourse.    • 

[  Walks,  in  meditation  and  soliloquy. 
Why,  I  am  growing  melancholy.     My  sun  's 
Across  the  line  and  courses  the  horizon ; 
My  nights  are  growing  longer  than  my  days  ; 
The  glad  days  wane,  until,  as  in  the  deepening 
Winter,  near  the  northern  pole,  they  '11  come 
But  for  a  moment,  a  wedge  of  light  between 
Two  nights.     Oh,  hasten,  come,  thou  blank,  perpetual 
Night !      [Music  ceases.]     The    instruments  are  dumb,  the 

players 

Are  at  rest ;  but  their  unceased  vibrations 
On  struggling  chords  yet  tremble  in  my  breast. 
Alas  !  such  is  the  growth  of  melancholy. 

[Exit. 


The  Merchant  Prince 


Act  the  Fourth. 

SCENE  I. — A  room  at  the  Dolphin  Inn.  Guns,  pistols,  swords, 
and  other  weapons  scattered  around.  WHETSTONE  in  armor, 
lying  upon  a  sofa,  disquietly  sleeping. 

Enter  BLUEGRASS  carrying  a  large  dictionary. 

BLUEGRASS. 

He  sleeps.  'T  is  well.  For  centuries  men,  with  eager 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  horizon,  have  awaited  the  coming  of 
the  purely  literary  duel.  The  auspicious  morn  is  about  to 
dawn,  in  fact,  to  bloom  upon  this  magnificent  star  of  ours, 
when,  in  affairs  of  honor,  bloody  swords,  odious  gunpowder, 
and  slaughtering  bullets  no  longer  shall  disgrace  the  planet. 

WHETSTONE  [dreaming]. 
Take  away  the  sword  !     Do  not  say  I  killed  you ! 

BLUEGRASS. 

He  dreams  of  the  combat.  Rest,  warrior,  rest !  Safe 
within  this  volume,  and  at  your  timely  service,  are  such 
dire  missiles,  fearful  and  momentous  cartridges,  bombs,  shells, 
fowling-pieces,  blunderbusses,  mortars,  and  battering-rams, 
as  have  rent  nations  asunder  and  awed  the  world.  Can 
v  base  gunpowder  and  lead  do  «o  much  ?  O  puissant  volume, 

116 


of  Cornville. 

armory  and  magazine,  I  will  select  from  your  mighty  stores, 
for  my  principal's  sake,  weapons  which  shall  strike  terror 
and  dismay  to  his  adversary's  heart.  Yes,  a  full  dozen  of  as 
bold  bad  words  as  were  ever  conned  from  out  thy  depths  by 
a  dyspeptic  writer  at  midnight  hour  in  editorial  den. 

\_A  rooster  crows. 

WHETSTONE  [still  dreaming] . 
See  how  he  glares  upon  me ! 

BLUEGRASS. 

Rest,  warrior,  rest !  You  go  forth  not  to  death,  but  to 
glorious  immortality.  [Rooster  crows. 

WHETSTONE  [starting  up] . 

Take  him  away  ;  he  is  killing  me  !  Oh,  oh  !  [Observing 
BLUEGRASS]  Who  are  you  ? 

BLUEGRASS  [cheerfully']. 

Your  trusty  friend  and  second  in  this  valiant  enterprise. 
I  've  just  returned  from  Fopdoodle's  second.  We  have 
arranged  the  place,  time,  weapons,  and  conditions  of  the 
duel  very  satisfactorily. 

WHETSTONE. 
You  seem  to  enjoy  it ! 

BLUEGRASS. 

Listen,  and  you  '11  enjoy  it  too. 

117 


The  Merchant  Prince 

WHETSTONE. 
Let  me  know  the  worst. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Place,  the  little  clearing  in  the  darkened  wood  behind  the 
hill. 

WHETSTONE. 

Why  did  n't  you  make  it  in  the  West,  behind  the  Rocky 
Mountains  ? 

BLUEGRASS. 
Time,  one  hour  before  sunrise. 

WHETSTONE. 

Why  did  n't  you  make  it  next  year,  in  the  dark  of  the 
moon  ?  Major,  I  feel  that  my  blood  will  be  upon  your 
so-called  head. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Not  if  my  head  can  save  you,  and  I  think  it  can.  With 
some  acuteness,  I  secured  Scythe  as  attendant  surgeon,  in 
case  of  an  accident,  and  he  has  already  gone  to  the  spot 
with  all  his  surgical  implements  of  healing.  [Rooster  crows. 

WHETSTONE. 
What 's  that  ?     Is 't  the  signal  ? 

BLUEGRASS. 

Listen  !  now  for  the  weapons. 

118 


of  Cornville. 

WHETSTONE. 
Don't,  Major,  don't ! 

BLUEGRASS. 

With  some  archness  in  archery,  I  first  chose  crossbows  as 
most  fitting  for  lovers'  duels,  but  abandoned  them  as  too 
crosswise.  Blunderbusses  I  rejected,  as  too  blundering  for 
us  ;  and,  noting  the  weakness  of  our  enemy  in  diction,  I  at 
last  chose  dictionaries,  big  and  unabridged,  and  made  by  the 
most  celebrated  word-smiths. 

WHETSTONE. 

Dictionaries  !  Did  you  say  dictionaries?  Major,  now 
my  anger  is  reviving.  Now,  by  all  that 's  terrible,  I  '11  fight 
till  there  's  not  a  leaf  or  lid  left.  Why,  the  first  blow  I  give 
him  shall  be  a  jaw-breaker.  He'll  think  himself  smitten, 
like  the  Philistines,  by  a  jawbone.  Major,  get  me  a  diction- 
ary with  iron  clasps  ;  but  one  is  not  enough,  my  boy.  I  '11 
strike  him  with  two  dictionaries.  [Rooster  crows. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Erroneous  hero  !  You  are  in  honor  bound  not  to  deal 
him  any  blows  with  vulgar  material-bound  paper. 

WHETSTONE. 
How  then,  my  boy,  how  then  ? 

BLUEGRASS. 

Listen  to  the  conditions  of  the  duel.     At  a  distance  of  two 

119 


The  Merchant  Prince 

paces,  you  and  Fopdoodle,  each  aided  by  his  respective 
second,  will  each  respectively  select,  for  each  fire  from  his 
inexhaustible  dictionary  or  armory,  one  animal  noun  for  his 
projectile,  and  one  adjective,  —  for  your  adjective  is  your 
gunpowder  to  your  bullet  of  a  noun.  These  two,  to  wit : 
one  animal  noun  and  one  adjective,  each  of  you  will  form 
into  a  cartridge,  or  epithet,  and  at  the  word  Fire  each  will 
fire  it  at  his  adversary. 

WHETSTONE. 

Bless  you,  my  boy,  we  are  saved  !.  You  shall  always  be 
editor  of  the  Eagle.  My  boy,  you  must  have  known  I  did  n't 
want  to  kill  him.  Major,  stand  by  me  to  the  last. 

BLUEGRASS. 

I  '11  do  it.  I  am  a  connoisseur  in  epithets  ;  and  your 
animal  noun  with  adjective  conjoined  is  a  terrible  weapon. 
O  book,  how  like  a  poet  thou  art !  —  in  pleasant  moods  full 
of  balmlike  words,  but  in  anger  javelined  like  a  porcupine. 
Be  thou  a  cage  filled  to  the  cover's  brim  with  fierce  animal 
nouns  which  fret  their  paper  cage  of  leaves  to  pounce  upon 
the  enemy.  Remember,  at  each  fire  call  him  some  out- 
rageous animal,  and  exploit  the  animal  with  an  explosive 
adjective. 

WHETSTONE. 

I  '11  do  it.     The  gourd-headed  baboon  ! 

[Rooster  crows. 
1 20 


of  Cornville. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Good  ;  a  very  fine  line  shot!  But  don't  waste  your  ammu- 
nition here.  Wait  until  you  get  your  enemy  into  close 
quarters,  and  meanwhile  steady  your  nerves  and  tongue. 
Remember,  no  faltering  of  the  tongue. 

WHETSTONE. 
How  goes  the  night  outdoors  ? 

BLUEGRASS. 

All 's  well !  Now  shall  I  behold  the  first  genuine  literary 
duel  ever  fought  on  this  magnificent  star  of  ours,  while  the 
sun  trails  his  sanguinary  banners  along  the  eastern  sky. 

[Rooster  crows. 
WHETSTONE. 

Why  does  he  crow  so  often? 

BLUEGRASS. 

It  is  the  martial  bird  of  morn,  brave  chanticleer  —  the 
vocal  lighthouse  of  the  dawn.  Six  times  has  the  rooster 
crowed.  [Rooster  again  crows.~\  And  yet  again  he  crows,  — 
seven  times,  mysterious  number  !  With  crimson  comb  and 
whetted  spurs,  he  sniffs  this  duel  from  his  lofty  perch  in  the 
heavenly  balcony. 

WHETSTONE. 

How  says  the  time  ? 

BLUEGRASS. 

It  lacks  but  little  of  the  hour.     We  '11  prove  no  laggards 

121 


The  Merchant  Prince 

on  the  field  of  honor.  Come  on.  Make  haste  !  Away, 
away,  or  we  '11  be  late  to  join  the  fray  !  We  '11  get  our 
lanterns  on  the  way.  [Rooster  crows."]  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.  —  A  clearing  in  a  wood.     SCYTHE,  ivith  lantern, 
arranging  surgical  instruments. 

Enter,  running,  FOPDOODLE,  attended  by  TOM,  his  valet  and 
second,  carrying  lantern  and  dictionary. 

FOPDOODLE. 
What  man  is  this  ? 

TOM. 

Good  master,  this  is  the  attendant  surgeon,  agreed  upon 
by  Whetstone's  second  and  myself,  your  own  second  and 
humble  valet. 

FOPDOODLE. 

Kind  Mr.  Surgeon,  if  we  two  fall  at  once,  save  me  first ; 
and  I  promise  you  a  great  reward  from  father's  patrimony. 
And  as  our  wounds  we  do  refer  to  you,  I  move  to  make  you 
referee.  Kind  Mr.  Surgeon,  prescribe  for  me  a  breathing 
spell.  [SCYTHE  examines  him  with  glass.~\  Tom,  my  man, 
stand  firm  !  For  as  we  crossed  through  yonder  green  and 
peaceful  field,  by  some  ominous  mischance  a  sleeping,  low- 
bred, fiery  bull  arose,  with  eyes  big  as  our  lanterns,  filled 
with  the  flaming  fat  of  animal  fury.  He  chased  ;  and  as 
we  fled,  I  thought  I  was  pursued  by  an  infuriated  animal 
noun.  Oh,  doctor,  prescribe  for  me  a  breathing  spell. 

122 


of  Cornville. 

TOM. 

Good  master,  here  is  your  dictionary,  if  you  'd  take  a 
breathing  spell. 

FOPDOODLE. 

Unlettered  ruffian,  uncompassionate  fool,  do  I  clothe  and 
fee  you  for  this  ?  Hand  me  my  spirit  of  hartshorn  to  brace 
my  spirits  up.  [Using  smelling-bottle. ~\  Had  I  but  had  this 
spirit  of  hartshorn  in  my  nostrils,  I  would  have  had  the 
spirit  to  face  a  thousand  bulls.  Where's  the  infuriated 
dictionary  ? 

TOM. 

Here  it  is,  good  master. 

FOPDOODLE. 

Turn  to  the  fearful  B's ;  I  know  some  good  shots  in 
the  B's. 

TOM. 

Here  they  are,  good  master. 

FOPDOODLE. 
Do  we  yet  espy  the  foe  ? 

SCYTHE  [looking  through  glass~\ . 

I  see  him  coming  over  the  brow  of  the  hill,  and  he  '11  be 
here  in  a  wink. 

FOPDOODLE. 
Alas,  if  I  should  fall ! 

123 


The  Merchant  Prince 

TOM. 
I  '11  raise  you  up  again. 

FOPDOODLE. 

Base  horizontal  knave,  thou  canst  again  raise  up  my  body, 
but  not  my  character. 

Enter  WHETSTONE  and  BLUEGRASS,  with  lantern 
and  dictionary. 

BLUEGRASS. 

A  brave  salutation,  gentlemen  !  We  will  pursue  the  code 
of  honor  where  it  does  not  conflict  with  us.  Let  the 
principals  advance,  and  shake  hands  in  the  usual  way,  to 
show  that  they  in  humor  and  honor  are  not  ill.  [WHET- 
STONE and  FOPDOODLE  advance  and  shake  bands.  To  TOM] 
We  must  compare  size,  weight,  and  calibre  of  type.  [They 
compare  dictionaries.]  The  weapons  are  of  the  same  edition. 
Now  for  choice  of  positions;  but  there  are  two  esteemed 
objects  in  the  heavens,  —  Mars  and  the  moon;  for  them 
we'll  toss  up.  [To  TOM]  Head  or  tail?  [Tosses  up 
a  coin.] 

TOM. 

Tail. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Head  it  is.  I  've  won !  I  place  Fopdoodle  with  the 
moon  in  his  face,  and  Whetstone  with  the  planet  Mars  at 
his  back.  [Measures  off  two  paces  and  places  the  principals] 
In  affairs  of  honor,  delay  is  a  vice,  despatch  a  virtue.  I  pro- 

124 


of  Cornville. 

pose,  between  each  fire,  thirty  seconds  for  loading,  that  after 
the  words,  One,  two, —  fire!  each  one  shall  fire,  and  that 
this  continue  until  one  be  prostrated ;  also  that  Surgeon 
Scythe  give  the  word  and  be  referee.  But  we  '11  try  to  pre- 
serve a  gentlemanly  harmony. 

TOM. 

We  agree. 

[Each  second  supports  his  principal,  and  SCYTHE  times 
them  with  his  watch. 

FOPDOODLE. 

Tom,  my  man,  turn  to  the  C's ;  I  know  a  terrible  animal 

noun  in  the  C's. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Here,  Mayor  Whetstone,  is  your  adjective  for  gunpowder, 
—  Patagonian. 

WHETSTONE. 

I  '11  take  bat  for  a  bullet. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Now,  by  the    planet  Mars,  you    have  chosen  the  most 
unearthly  bullet  in  the  whole  menagerie  of  animal  nouns. 

FOPDOODLE  [to  TOM], 
I  've  got  it.     I  now  turn  to  U  for  my  gunpowder. 

TOM. 

Master,  I  have  no  gunpowder. 

125 


The  Merchant  Prince 

FOPDOODLE. 

You  unlettered  utensil,  you  !     The  letter  U. 

SCYTHE. 
Time  !     One,  two,  —  fire  ! 

WHETSTONE. 
Patagonian  bat  ! 

FOPDOODLE  [pronouncing  calf  with  broad  sound  of  letter  a]. 

Unutterable  calf! 

BLUEGRASS. 

A  foul'!  a  foul !     I  claim  a  foul. 

SCYTHE. 
Upon  what  do  you  base  your  foul  ? 

BLUEGRASS. 

Upon  the  letter  a  in  calf.  In  place  of  rightly  firing  calf 
with  the  Italian  sound  of  <?,  as  in  bah,  he  wrongly  fired  calf 
with  a  broad.  Therefore  he  fired  a  broadside,  with  sound  the 
same  as  in  ball.  I  claim  the  foul  is  sound. 

SCYTHE. 

Let  me  examine  your  weapon  \_examining  FOPDOODLE'S 
dictionary].  I  plainly  see  a  calf  with  two  little  dots  like  bud- 
ding horns  above  the  letter  a,  denoting  the  Italian  sound  ; 
and  as  you  wrongfully  fired  broad  <7,  and  as  broad  a  in  your 

126 


of  Cornville. 

weapon  is  denoted  by  two  little  dots  below  the  tf,  I  rule  you 
struck  below  the  belt,  and  hence  a  foul. 

BLUEGRASS. 
First  foul  for  Fopdoodle. 

WHETSTONE  [aside], 
See  him  tremble. 

FOPDOODLE  [aside], 
I  struck  him  badly. 

SCYTHE. 
Gentlemen,  are  your  honors  satisfied? 

WHETSTONE. 
Never  !     War  to  the  word  knife ! 

FOPDOODLE. 
Never  !     War  to  the  word  hilt ! 

SCYTHE. 

Then  sadly  be  it  said  :  Reload.  I  '11  see  if  there  is  any 
blood  on  yonder  red  and  warlike  Mars.  [Looks  at  Mars  with 
glass,  while  the  others  reload  from  dictionaries.]  Time  !  One, 
two,  —  fire ! 

FOPDOODLE. 

Hyperborean  ibex  ! 

127 


The  Merchant  Prince 

WHETSTONE. 
Parabolical  goose  ! 

SCYTHE. 

Are  you  satisfied  ? 

FOPDOODLE. 

Never  !     War  to  the  word  knife  ! 

WHETSTONE. 
Never  !     War  to  the  word  hilt ! 

SCYTHE. 
Reload.      [They  reload.~\     Time!     One,  two,  —  fire! 

FOPDOODLE. 
Impecunious  porcupine ! 

WHETSTONE. 
Hypothecated  buzzard  ! 

\Lightning  and  thunder,  while  SCYTHE  examines  the  sky 
with  glass. 

FOPDOODLE. 

Listen,  Tom  !  I  think  I  hear  the  police  !  The  police  ! 
Let  us  be  going  ! 

BLUEGRASS. 

Hold  !  'T  is  but  the  thunder,  heaven's  police  drilling 
near  the  distant  horizon.  Let  their  lanterns  flash  and  their 
clubs  smash  the  sky,  but  this  duel  shall  go  on. 

128 


of  Cornville. 

SCYTHE. 
Gentlemen,  reload.     [They  reload, ~\    Time!    One,  two, — 

FOPDOODLE. 
Hold  !     My  tongue  slipped. 

TOM. 
And  the  lightning  *s  blown  my  lantern  out. 

\_Ligbtning  and  thunder. 

BLUEGRASS  \re-lighting  TOM'S  lantern] . 

I  hope  I  may  re-light  your  lantern  without  an  explosion. 
A  fearful  storm  is  brewing,  but  we  must  make  them  fight  until 
one  falls. 

TOM. 

I  '11  stand  by  my  master. 

SCYTHE. 
Time  I     One,  two,  —  fire  ! 

WHETSTONE. 
Categorical  catamount ! 

FOPDOODLE. 
Bog-trotting  bull-frog ! 

BLUEGRASS. 

Foul,  foul,  a  most  terrible  and  bulldozing  foul, —  a  double- 
barrelled  fowling-piece  ;  a  two-bullet  foul. 
9  129 


The  Merchant  Prince 

TOM. 
A  bull-frog  is  no  fowl. 

BLUEGRASS. 
A  most  naked  and  unfeathered  fowl. 

SCYTHE. 

Upon  what  purely  scientific  facts  do  you  now  perch  your 
alleged  fowl  ? 

BLUEGRASS. 

Upon  the  rail  between  bull  and  frog.  Bull-frog  is  a  com- 
pound animal  noun,  composed  of  one  bull  and  one  frog, 
connected  by  a  hyphen,  or  narrow  ligament,  like  the  Siamese 
twins,  —  two  animals  in  one.  I  ask  judgment. 

[Lightning  and  thunder. 
SCYTHE. 

Listen  to  my  decision  ;  for  though  it  should  rain  bull- 
frogs, I  '11  decide  by  analysis.  The  difference  lies  between 
the  grammatical  bull-frog  and  the  purely  animal  bull-frog. 
Grammar  does  not  concern  the  animal  bull-frog,  but  has 
much  to  do  with  the  word  bull-frog.  The  purely  animal 
bull-frog  is  manifestly  not  a  fowl ;  but  inasmuch  as  by  the 
rules  only  one  animal  noun  is  allowed  at  a  shot,  and  where- 
as the  grammatical  bull-frog  is  compounded  of  two  animals 
linked  by  a  hyphen,  I  declare  them  a  chain-shot,  disallowed 
in  civilized  warfare,  and  a  foul  of  the  worst  description. 

TOM. 

Good  master,  he  says  't  is  a  foul. 

130 


of  Cornville. 

FOPDOODLE. 

We  're  in  bad  odor  with  this  referee.  I  smell  foul  play. 
Give  me  my  spirit  of  hartshorn,  or  I  faint. 

TOM. 
Here  it  is,  good  master. 

[FOPDOODLE   smells   of  hartshorn^  and  WHETSTONE 
drinks  out  of  a  flask. 

SCYTHE. 
Time  !     One,  two,  —  fire  ! 

FOPDOODLE. 
Humpbacked  sham ! 

WHETSTONE. 
Infamous  liar ! 

FOPDOODLE. 

You  man  in  buckram  !  You  rambling  sham  !  You  blue 
sham,  three-cornered  sham,  catalectic  sham !  You  panting, 
rampant  sham,  black  sham,  white  sham,  speckled  sham! 

BLUEGRASS  [to  SCYTHE]. 

Stop  him  !  He  has  opened  the  menagerie.  Foul,  foul ! 
He  has  fired  a  whole  sham  battery. 

WHETSTONE. 

I  '11  slay  him  on  the  spot.  You  catacomb  !  you  catas- 
trophic, cataleptic,  catacoustic  cat !  Pooh !  you  spotted 

131 


The  Merchant  Prince 

poodle,  you    freckled    poodle,  you   yellow-brindled  poodle ' 
dogfish  !   you  dogmatic-dogwood-doggerel  dog. 

[Lightning  and  thunder. 

TOM  [supporting  FOPDOODLE], 

Good  master,  bear  up.  'T  is  only  a  shower  of  cats  and 
dogs. 

FOPDOODLE  [fainting']. 

Give  me  a  drink  of  tiger's  blood  ! 

BLUEGRASS  [to  WHETSTONE], 

See,  you  have  struck  him  ;  he  is  falling. 

[FOPDOODLE  falls,  clasping  his  dictionary. 

SCYTHE  [to  TOM]. 

Run  quickly.  Catch  me  a  sheep  in  yonder  field.  By 
transfusing  blood  from  its  veins  to  his,  I  Ml  make  the  weak 
brave,  the  faint  alive.  [Taking  up  a  surgical  instrument.] 
Now,  great  Science,  help  me  ! 

TOM. 
Good  master,  I  go  to  get  the  sheep.  [Exit  TOM. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Long  live  and  let  live  the  literary  duel ! 

[Lightning  and  thunder.    The  scene  closes  while  WHET- 
STONE, BLUEGRASS,  and  SCYTHE  gather  around 
FOPDOODLE,  administering  to  him. 
132 


of  Cornville. 

SCENE  III.  —  The  Glen  of  Ferns.     Midday. 
Enter  IDEAL. 

IDEAL. 

See  how  great  Nature  lavishes  in  this 

Hard  wrinkle  in  the  globe  a  subtle  and 

Refining  power,  as  if  it  were  the  open 

Volume  of  the  earth  with  fern-clad  cliffs 

For  lettered  pages.     Here  the  glad  sun  comes 

In  his  most  favoring  hour,  with  impress  of 

A  God,  in  splendor  sparkling  down  the  glen. 

Ye  ferns  that  spring  along  these  cliffs  with  light 

And  airy  grace,  see  but  my  Violet, 

And  ye  shall  take  a  new  and  tender  charm. 

Yon  rainbow,  in  the  sportive  mist  above 

The  cascade  glowing,  well  a  brighter  bow 

Might  grow  when  it  doth  catch  the  arch  words  of 

Bright  Violet.     Ye  berries  crimsoning 

On  yonder  bushes,  were  ye  roseate 

As  are  the  ripe  red  lips  of  Violet, 

Wise  men  a  holiday  would  take,  and  go 

A-berrying.     E'en  weeds  along  the  cliff 

Were  like  some  pretty  fault  in  Violet,  — 

Sweet  contrast  growing  but  for  beauty's  foil. 

Be  free  and  happy,  all  created  things; 

Ye  singing  birds,  your  melodies  attune  ; 

And  ye,  blithe  squirrels — Peeping  Toms  of  trees - 

'33 


The  Merchant  Prince 

From  out  your  leafy  coverts  peep,  and  I  '11 
Not  jealous  be. 

Enter  VIOLET,  at  top  of  rustic  stairway. 
Ay,  there  she  comes,  fair  Violet ! 

VIOLET. 
Heigh-ho  !     Why  art  thou  down  so  low  ? 

IDEAL. 

That  I  may  upward  gaze  at  thee.     For  as 
One  in  the  deep  bottom  of  a  well,  above 
May  see  a  star  at  midday,  so  do  I 
See  thee  from  the  deep  bottom  of  this  glen. 

VIOLET. 

With  fancy  thou  dost  blithely  scale  this  stair, 
As  doth  some  heavenly  singer  ;  yet  thou  seest 
Thou  art  still  at  the  bottom  of  the  glen. 

IDEAL. 

Let  us  be  like  two  notes  in  music  blent ; 
Thou  high,  I  low;  yet  both  in  sweet  accord. 

VIOLET. 

Truly,  thou  art  my  Ideal.      But,  alack  ! 
I  've  called  thee  by  thy  name. 

IDEAL. 

Give  thou  it  me,  and  I  will  bear  no  other. 
J34 


of  Cornville. 

VIOLET. 
Thou  hadst  it  long  ago. 

IDEAL. 

To  be  thy  Ideal  more  real  were 
Than  to  achieve  all  other  reals. 

VIOLET  \_arcbly~\. 
Alas  !  the  hard  vicissitudes  of  life ! 

IDEAL. 
Why,  how  now,  Violet  ?     I  '11  bear  them  all. 

VIOLET. 
All  hard  vicissitudes  ? 

IDEAL. 
All. 

VIOLET. 
I  have  an  uncle. 

IDEAL. 

If  he 's  a  hard  vicissitude,  I  '11  bear  him  too. 

VIOLET. 
I  '11  go  tell  my  uncle.      \JGoing.'] 

IDEAL. 

Nay,  hold.     Within  thy  words,  as  in  the  cinctured 
Filaments  of  lace  thou  wear'st,  I  see  the  fine 
Transparent  tracery  of  gossamer 
Designs.     In  such  a  web  I  'd  fain  be  caught. 

'35 


The  Merchant  Prince 

VIOLET. 
And  I  'd  fain  catch  thee. 

IDEAL. 

Come,  let  us  walk  within  this  pleasant  glen ; 

And  if  we  weary,  —  on  a  mossy  bank, 

In  the  cool  shade  of  interlacing  leaves, — 

We  '11  watch  the  gentle  coquetry  between 

A  burning  sunbeam  and  a  shaded  fern. 

There  's  not  a  fern-leaf,  berry,  blade  of  grass, 

Nor  flower,  but  I  '11  gather  it  for  thee. 

If  at  thy  feet  it  grow,  then  I  '11  kneel  there ; 

If  higher,  in  a  crevice  of  the  cliff, 

Together  we  will  reach  for  it,  and  in 

The  touching  of  our  finger-tips  it  shall 

Part  company  with  earth  in  ecstasy. 

And  if,  above,  thou  dost  but  gladly  view 

That  most  sky-kissing  flower,  the  heavenly  bluebell, 

Which  with  transparent  hue  embellishes 

The  summit  of  the  clifF,  why,  I  '11  climb  there. 

VIOLET. 

m 

And  leave  me  in  the  lone  recesses  of  the  glen? 

IDEAL. 

If  thou  didst  not  detain  me  with  thine  eyes ; 
For  if,  in  climbing  upward,  I  looked  back, 
I  'd  see  the  sky  and  bluebell  in  thine  eyes, 
And  so  return  to  thee.     Come,  Violet,  come. 
136 


of  Cornville. 

VIOLET. 

Ah,  me !     See  what  a  deep,  deep  stair  it  is. 
\Andi\  Aloof  the  bluebell,  lovers  joy  to  see. 
\_dloud]  I  '11  not  descend. 

IDEAL. 

Then  I  '11  invoke 

The  spirit  of  this  lovely  glen,  that  dwells 
In  yonder  rock,  to  aid  in  my  petition. 

[  Turns  and  calls  to  rock  on  further  side  of  glen. 
Come,  Violet! 

\_An  echo  is  heard  repeating  VIOLET. 

VIOLET. 

I  think  I  hear  my  uncle  calling ; 
I  must  go.     Adieu  ! 

IDEAL. 

Think  not  so.     I  but  now  called  Violet, 
And  what  thou  heard'st  was  the  far  echo  of 
Thy  name,  that 's  borne  by  yonder  rock  from  out 
This  cheering  vale  to  listening  hills  beyond. 
It  is  a  wanton,  merry  rock  that  doth 
Delight  to  sweetly  hold  discourse  in  doubling 
Of  thy  name.     But  as  it  hath  no  beard 
Upon  its  face,  except  a  fringe  of  ferns, 
I  '11  not  be  jealous.     For  such  gentle  service, 
Violet,  give  not  the  rock  the  hardness 
Of  thy  uncle's  heart ;  but  stay. 

137 


The  Merchant  Prince 

VIOLET. 
Between  thee  and  the  rock,  I  almost  am  persuaded. 

IDEAL. 

Sweet  Violet,  do  not  go,  —  be  persuaded 

Altogether  ;  for  although  this  is 

A  sheltered  glen,  with  pleasant  sunshine  tempered, 

Yet  from  thy  coldness  I  would  perish  as 

A  homeless  midnight  traveller,  embedded 

'Mid  bewildering  snowbanks. 

VIOLET. 

Say  not  so  ;  for  if  thou,  my  dear  Ideal, 
On  such  a  cruel,  frosty  bank  lay  dying, 
And  I  were  Violet  beneath  the  snow, 
As  violets  do  often  grow,  I  'd  call 
On  all  the  powers  in  stars  above  and  in 
The  earth  below  to  move  the  frosty  barrier. 
I  '11  come  to  thee. 

[The  scene  closes  while  VIOLET  descends  the  stair,  and 
IDEAL  advances  to  meet  her. 


of  Cornville. 


Act  the  Fifth. 

SCENE   I.  —  A  room  at  the  Dolphin  Inn.     Evening, 

Enter  WHETSTONE  with  BLUEGRASS  in  black  dress  as  bis 
shadow.     Each  with  guitar  and  song-book. 

BLUEGRASS. 

A  day  and  night, — and  now  another  day  hath  waned  for 
our  recuperation  ;  and  our  adventures  have  flown  on  light- 
ning wings  to  Cornville.  Now  do  we  start  on  new  emprise. 

WHETSTONE. 

Major  Bluegrass,  this  serenade  must  be  played  on  the 
hard-pan.  Put  me  through  to-night,  and  I  '11  make  you  half- 
owner  of  the  Cornville  Eagle. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Trust  me,  I  '11  be  your  musical  secretary !  With  the 
Eagle  and  Ninon,  I  could  soar  through  life  like  a  bird. 

WHETSTONE. 

And  I  Ml  soar  with  Violet.  Why,  hello  !  I  've  forgotten 
all  about  Susan.  Where  '11  I  leave  Susan  ? 


The  Merchant  Prince 

BLUEGRASS. 

Susan !  Your  housekeeper  !  Why,  what  takes  you  back 
to  Cornville  at  such  a  sky-crisis  as  this  ?  The  great  point 
in  a  flight  of  romance  is  never  to  approach  earth.  Susan! 
Why,  Susan  will  tarry  here  below  and  superintend  the 
cuisine,  so  that  you  and  Violet  may  have  a  warm  repast  when 
you  come  down  from  your  sky-parlor. 

WHETSTONE. 
I    wonder   what    Susan  will  say  when   I  bring  home  my 

bride. 

BLUEGRASS. 

As  one  good  man  should  say  to  another,  first  bridle  your 
bride. 

WHETSTONE. 

Why,  Major,  Susan  and  I  were  young  together,  and  we 
loved,  or  thought  we  did.  She  wanted  to  marry,  I  wanted  to 
wait ;  consequence,  compromise.  I  engaged  her  as  my 
housekeeper.  There 's  romance  for  you  ! 

BLUEGRASS. 
'T  is  an  ancient  parallel. 

WHETSTONE. 
In  our  serenade,  what  shall  I  do  ? 

BLUEGRASS. 

the 

«•         J     ' 

you  twit  the  circumam- 


BLUE  GRASS. 

The  guitar  you  hold  you  cannot  play  ;   hence   I  '11  do 
mechanical  upon  the  strings,  while  you  twit  the  circum 

140 


of  Cornville.  x 

bient  air  from  the  bridge  musical  of  your  instrument.  And 
if  you  'd  prove  me  with  a  double  burden,  I  '11  bear  both 
words  and  music  ;  in  which  event  you  '11  give  the  color  and 
visible  gesture  of  description.  Stand  you  beneath  some 
close-leaved  tree,  where  the  night  overlaps,  and  I  '11  be  con- 
cealed near  you  in  the  shrubbery.  Later,  I  '11  emerge 
behind  you,  as  your  true  shadow. 

WHETSTONE. 

All  right,  I  '11  give  the  motions.  Now,  let  's  see  what  we 
have  in  the  song-book.  [Opening  song-book.^  Here 's  the 
Midnight  S  renade  ;  and  Beauteous  Lady  I  Adore  Thee. 
That 's  business.  Here  's  a  whole  grist  of  meeting  songs  : 
[reading']  Meet  Me  at  the  Lane  ;  Meet  Me  by  Moonlight ; 
Meet  Me,  Darling,  in  the  Dell ;  Meet  Me  down  by  the 
Sea  ;  Meet  Me  in  the  Arbor  ;  Meet  Me  in  the  Twilight. 
Where  '11  this  end  ?  Meet  Me  'neath  the  Slippery-Elm  Tree. 
Meet  Me  in  the  Willow-Glen.  Why,  Major,  the  earth 
is  covered  with  meeting-places.  But  wait !  [Examining 
book  and  pondering. ~\  What  book-carpenter  did  this  work  ? 
Here's  Black-Eyed  Susan — [aside~\  Susan  has  brown  eyes  — 
[aloud]  sandwiched  between  Paddle  your  own  Canoe  and  the 
Pirates'  Chorus. 

BLUEGRASS. 

He  was  a  ship-carpenter  who  did  his  work  ship-shape. 

WHETSTONE  [reading]. 

Comin'  thro'   the    Rye,   Comin'    thro'   the   Rye,  —  that 

141 


The  Merchant  Prince 

sounds  homelike.     Major,  my  boy,  sing  and  play  while  I 
act  it. 

BLUE  GRASS  sings  and  plays  Comin'  thro'  the  Rye^  while 
WHETSTONE  accompanies  with  pantomime. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Demosthenes  the  Athenian,  being  interrogated,  replied 
that  action  makes  the  orator.  I  may  add  that  it  makes  the 
singer. 

WHETSTONE. 

You  're  right.  [Examining  song-book]  Here 's  a  whole 
nest  of  love-songs :  Love,  Beautiful  Love ;  Love  in  a 
Cottage  ;  Love  Launched  a  Ferry-boat. 

BLUEGRASS. 
'T  is  not  ferry-boat,  but  fairy  boat. 

WHETSTONE  [reading]. 
Love  is  at  the  Helm. 

BLUEGRASS. 
That 's  when  love 's  at  sea. 

WHETSTONE  [reading], 
Love  is  like  the  Morning  Dew. 

BLUEGRASS. 

We  're  approaching  land  again. 

142 


of  Cornville. 

WHETSTONE  [reading]. 
Love's  Perfect  Cure. 

BLUEGRASS. 
We  don't  need  it. 

WHETSTONE  [reading]. 
Love's  the  Greatest  Plague. 

BLUEGRASS. 
Hold  on  !  yes,  we  do. 

WHETSTONE  [reading], 

Love  Me  Little,  Love  Me  Long;  Love,  Love,  oh,  what 
is  Love  ?  Major,  my  boy,  that  settles  it.  We  must  find 
out.  Hurrah  !  I  feel  like  a  new  man  !  Let 's  be  going ! 
If  I  fail,  Northlake  shall  not  have  a  dollar.  Violet 's  the 
only  collateral  he  can  put  up.  If  I  don't  get  her,  I  '11  take 
the  next  train  to  Cornville  and  marry  Susan  on  the  spot. 
She 's  been  a  good  housekeeper  to  me  these  many  years ; 
and  once  when  I  was  sick  she  bathed  my  feet  in  hot  water 
and  mustard,  and  put  a  hot  flannel  around  —  I  think  it  was 
my  throat ;  and  her  elder-blossom  tea  can't  be  beaten. 

BLUEGRASS. 
Do  you  falter  ? 

WHETSTONE. 

No  i    I  '11  have  what  I  want.     You  remember  the  bay 

H3 


The  Merchant  Prince 

colt  that  cost  me  five  thousand  dollars  ?     People  thought  I 
was  a  fool,  but  I  was  n't. 

BLUEGRASS. 
You  were  a  horse  diplomat. 

WHETSTONE. 

Exactly.  I  saw  points,  and  now  the  colt  has  a  great 
record.  I  see  points  about  that  girl  Violet  that  no  one  else 
sees.  She  's  an  extraordinary  girl,  a  thoroughbred,  and  I  '11 
back  my  judgment  with  my  money. 

BLUEGRASS. 
What  if  she  don't  take  kindly  to  you  ? 

WHETSTONE. 

Watch  me  closely,  and  you  '11  see  me  win  her  to-night. 
What 's  the  use  of  money,  if  you  can't  get  — points,  my  boy, 
when  you  want  them  ?  And  yet  — 

BLUEGRASS. 
And  yet  what  ? 

WHETSTONE. 

And  yet  Susan  has  points  too.  She  can  roast  a  goose 
splendidly,  —  and  that  elder-blossom  teal  But  enough  of 

this.     Away  to  serenade. 

[Exeunt. 


144 


of  Cornville. 

SCENE  II.  — •  A  dining- ball  in  NORTHLAKE'S  Villa.     POMPEY 
and  HANNIBAL  arranging  dining-table. 

POMPEY  [merrily], 

Yah  !  yah  !  I  say,  Hannibal,  Lake  Shore  's  g'wone  up.  I 
make  pile  money  on  dat  happy  shore,  shure.  Stocks  am  de 
ting  to  put  de  money  in  de  stockin'. 

HANNIBAL  [gloomily]. 

So  !  so  !  I  lose  pile  money  on  dat  Hudson  Ribber.  My 
banker  telegram  fo'  moh  margin  every  fifteen  minutes  fo' 
foh  hours.  De  agony  of  dem  hours  I  can  nebber  tell  you, 
Pompey.  De  telegram-wire,  and  de  tongue  of  lightnin', 
holler,  Moh  margin!  Hudson  Ribber  g'wone  down,  —  moh 
margin  !  I  and  de  ole  woman  scrape  and  scrape,  and  empty 
de  big  stockin'  bank  dat  de  old  woman  hab  under  de  bed  fo' 
de  rainy  day  ;  still  it  holler,  Moh  margin  !  And  den  de  old 
woman  raise  de  washtub  'gainst  her  lawful  husband.  I 
nebber  tink  dat  ribber  railroad  could  sink  so  fast.  Pompey, 
it  am  de  fashion  to  condumdole  wid  your  misfortunate  neigh- 
bor ;  how  much  you  condumdole  wid  me,  Pompey  ? 

POMPEY. 

You  hear  me,  chile !  I  lose  moh  money  on  dat  Hudson 
Ribber  dan  you  ebber  see. 

HANNIBAL. 
Why,  honey,  how  am  dat  ?     You  hab  no  Hudson  Ribber 

stock. 

10  ,45 


The  Merchant  Prince 

POMPEY. 

I  was  g'wone  down  de  ribber  on  de  canal-boat,  when  I 
losed  it.  Yah,  yah  ! 

HANNIBAL. 

Pompey,  you  am  too  friv'lous  and  vis'nary  fo'  de  bus'ness 
man,  —  fo'  de  stock  op'rator. 

POMPEY. 

Hannibal,  I  hab  de  call  on  you.  Now  let  us  confabulate 
togedder  like  sensible  people.  Ober  two  hours  ago,  I  see 
de  mess'nger  boy  bring  de  telegram.  It  ware  from  Mr. 
Northlake's  banker,  and  it  read  :  You  made  five  hundred 
thousand  dollars  to-day  on  Lake  Shore  stock.  Now  you  hab 
seen  Mr.  Northlake  cast  down,  way  down,  — tremendously, 
moh  dan  usual,  fo'  'bout  a  month,  —  way  down,  'cause  he 
lose  all  his  own  and  Miss  Violet's  fortune  speculating  —  way 
down  ;  but  when  he  read  dat,  he  smile  like  de  little  chile  ; 
and  he  say  to  me :  Pompey,  dere  '11  be  a  surprise-party  yere 
to-night.  Spread  de  banquet  fo'  de  guests.  And  now  we 
doin'  it,  ain't  we  ? 

HANNIBAL. 

I  'm  glad  ob  dat,  fo'  Miss  Violet's  sake,  and  de  tings  she 
gibs  me ;  but  dis  am  de  point  I  must  determinate  before  de 
limbs  work  easy  :  Ware  am  de  margin  g'wone  dat  I  don't 
hab,  —  de  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  ninety-seven 

cents  ? 

POMPEY. 

Dat,  chile,  am  g'wone  ware  de  weasel 's  g'wone  wid  de 
egg-  146 


of  Cornville. 

HANNIBAL. 

Dat  am  a  big  weasel  to  get  away  wid  one  thousand  seven 
hundred  and  ninety-seven  cents.  I'll  write  my  banker, 
shure,  in  de  mornin'  'bout  de  wrong  p'ints  he  gibs  me. 
Dat 's  my  p'intin'  'pinion  'bout  him.  Maybe  he'll  loan  me 
it  back  again,  —  dat  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  ninety- 
seven  cents.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  III. —  The  lawn  in  front  O/*NORTHLAK.E'S  Villa. 

Enter  WHETSTONE    and  BLUEGRASS,  with  guitars,  stealthily 
advancing  through  the  shrubbery ,  and  appearing  upon  the  lawn. 

BLUEGRASS. 

Now  do  we  stand  upon  the  green  lawn  of  fresh  enterprise. 
Stand  yourself  'neath  yonder  tree,  and  fix  your  eyes  on  the 
balcony  [WHETSTONE  takes  position  accordingly],  while  I,  from 
behind  this  green  projecting  wing  of  shrubbery,  project  our 
ripening  song  [moving  behind  the  shrubbery].  First,  our  song 
of  salutation,  with  fresh  words. 

BLUEGRASS,  under  cover  of  the  shrubbery,  sings  and  plays,  while 
WHETSTONE  accompanies  with  pantomime. 

The  moon  is  on  the  hills, 

The  glow-worm  's  in  the  grass  ; 

The  nightingales  have  bills, 
The  owls  have  singing-class. 

147 


The  Merchant  Prince 

BLUEGRASS  ceases  singing  while  WHETSTONE  continues 
pantomime. 

WHETSTONE. 
Give  me  more  words  ! 

BLUEGRASS. 
I  've  forgotten  the  rest,  and  therefore  take  a  rest. 

WHETSTONE. 

Look !  the  door  is  opening.  [Door  partly  opens,  and 
POMPEY  shows  his  head.]  Great  thunder  —  a  black  walnut ! 

BLUEGRASS. 

Vanish,  thou  black  January  !  [POMPEY  vanishes]  We  '11 
strike  a  mellower  melody,  and  yonder  balcony  shall  bear 
fruitage  brighter  than  October.  The  prize  of  the  trouba- 
dours in  the  courts  of  love  was  the  golden  violet. 

WHETSTONE. 

Give  me  no  more  sentimental  nonsense.  Sing  a  song  of 
business. 

BLUEGRASS. 

That's  clever.  I  feel  the  inspiration.  I '11  improvise  a 
matter-of-fact  descriptive  ballad  illustrating  the  moral  maxim, 
Business  before  love. 

148 


of  Cornville. 

BLUEGRASS   sings  and  plays;    WHETSTONE  accompanies  with 
pantomime,  and  joins  in  singing  last  line  of  each  stanza. 

Katie  and  Jack  got  up  at  morn, 
And  she  came  with  two  ears  of  corn, 
And  he  came  with  his  brassy  horn, 
To  drive  the  ducks  to  market,  O  ! 

Now  Katie's  ducks  were  white  as  snow, 
But  Jackie's  ducks  were  black  as  crow  ; 
So  o'er  the  hills  away  they  go, 
Driving  the  ducks  to  market,  O  ! 

Then  Jackie  blew  his  brassy  horn, 
And  Katie  shelled  her  ears  of  corn, 
While  the  rooster  crowed  upon  the  thorn, 
Driving  the  ducks  to  market,  O ! 

Now  Katie  loved,  and  so  did  he, 
And  he  his  horn  hung  on  a  tree; 
Oh,  they  were  glad  as  the  busy  bee, 
Keeping  the  ducks  from  market,  O  ! 

The  moon  fell  down  behind  a  hill ; 
The  sun  winked  at  the  miller's  mill; 
The  lark  got  up  upon  his  quill, 

Keeping  the  ducks  from  market,  O  ! 

Alas  !  alas  !  green  grew  the  grass, 
The  duckies,  hunting  garden  sass, 
Fell  in  a  trap.     Alas  !  alas  ! 

Keeping  the  ducks  from  market,  O ! 
149 


The  Merchant  Prince 

Then  he  cried  chuckie,  duckie,  O  ! 
Then  she  cried  duckie,  chuckie,  O  ! 
But  oh,  alas  !  it  was  no  go, 

Driving  the  ducks  to  market,  O  ! 

MORAL. 

The  moral 's  plain  as  the  bumble-bee, 
Clear  on  the  top  of  a  tall  tree. 
Oh,  wait !  if  lovers  you  may  be  ; 

First  drive  your  ducks  to  market,  O  I 

Enter  VIOLET  upon  the  balcony. 

VIOLET. 

I  plainly  see  there 's  business  in  this  night.  \Percelving 
WHETSTONE.]  Why,  't  is  the  self-same  knight  that  did 
bedight  another  night,  but  far  more  musical.  There  's  a  sad 
want  of  unity  here,  as  no  music,  however  rich,  can  me  unite 
to  yonder  knight.  [Addressing  WHETSTONE.]  Do  my  two 
eyes  behold  that  Mayor  Whetstone,  of  Cornville,  near  the 
capital  of  Illinois,  called  Hercules  after  his  grand-uncle 
Hercules,  who  drove  the  Indians  down  the  Mississippi  ? 

WHETSTONE. 

You  do  behold  with  two,  unless  with  one  you  kindly  wink 
upon  me,  which  I  half  believe  you  do. 

VIOLET. 

Is  thy  meaning  double  or  single  ? 

150 


of  Cornville. 

WHETSTONE. 

Sweet  Miss  Violet,  I  have  been  a  man  with  an  eye  single 
to  business,  but  who  would  double  his  business. 

BLUEGRASS. 
Don't  give  her  any  quandaries. 

VIOLET. 
Why,  thou  hast  changed  thy  voice  ! 

WHETSTONE  [aside]. 
Major,  you  rascal,  assume  my  voice  ! 

BLUEGRASS  [assuming  WHETSTONE'S  voice"]. 

Sweet  Violet,  it  is  the  air,  that 's  sometimes  tuneful  and 
sometimes  not,  that  doth  effect  the  change. 

VIOLET. 
Thou  art  an  artful  man. 

BLUEGRASS  [assuming  WHETSTONE'S  voice"]. 
Sweet  Violet,  't  is  even  noted  so. 

WHETSTONE  [aside]. 
Confound  you,  't  is  not  so  ! 

BLUEGRASS  [assuming  WHETSTONE'S  voice], 
I  meant  to  say  the  air  is  so. 


The  Merchant  Prince 

VIOLET. 

If  thou  sowest  the  air  with  so,  so,  thy  harvest  will  be  no, 
no.  The  air  upon  this  balcony  well  balances  its  fruitage. 

WHETSTONE  [aside]. 
You  villain,  we  're  caught ! 

VIOLET. 
I  '11  not  complain  if  thou  wilt  sing  me  another  song. 

WHETSTONE  [aside], 
Major,  you  rascal,  another  song ! 

BLUEGRASS  [aside]. 
I  don't  know  any  more. 

WHETSTONE  [tneeling]. 

Sweet  Miss  Violet,  upon  this  green  grass  I  vow  to  love 
you  as  long  as  grass  grows.  Oh,  Miss  Violet,  you  're  too 
young  to  know  what  you  may  lose.  You  may  lose  the  real 
Merchant  Prince  of  Cornville,  near  the  capital  of  Illinois, 
called  Hercules  after  his  grand-uncle  Hercules,  who  drove 
the  real  Indians  reeling  down  the  real  Mississippi. 

VIOLET. 

Rise,  thou  mighty  chief  of  merchandise.  I  set  much  store 
by  thee. 

WHETSTONE  [rising  and  aside]. 

Major,  my  boy,  did  you  hear  that  ? 

152 


of  Cornville. 

VIOLET. 

Great  Prince,  it  is  my  humor  to  be  enamoured  of  thy 
union  of  business  and  romance.  [Calls  to  NINON  within. 
NINON  enters.  BLUEGRASS  leaves  the  shrubbery  and  goes  behind 
WHETSTONE,  as  his  shadow]  Take  no  leaves  from  my 
shrubbery.  What  is  't  that  's  back  of  thee,  Prince  ? 

WHETSTONE. 
'T  is  but  the  shadow  cast  from  me  by  the  moonlight. 

VIOLET. 

The  tree  'neath  which  thou  standest  is  cedrine,  and  its 
laced  boughs,  filtering  the  moonlight,  cast  an  interlacing 
shadow  on  the  lawn  ;  upon  this  plot,  now,  in  part,  a  deeper 
shadow  rests,  like  shadow  upon  shadow. 

BLUEGRASS   [sings  in  recitative^  and  WHETSTONE  accompanies 
with  pantomime] . 

'T  is  but  a  shadow,  't  is  but  a  shadow  cast  from  me  by  the 
moonlight. 

NINON. 

I  hear  ze  voice  of  ze  shadow,  ze  pretty  shadow.  Oh, 
zat  I  had  ze  shadow  up  on  ze  balcony  !  Charmant ! 

VIOLET. 

Fie,  Ninon,  what  wouldst  thou  with  the  fleeting  shadow 
of  this  Merchant  Prince  ?  Thou  hadst  not  even  the  shadow 
of  sentiment. 

'53 


The  Merchant  Prince 

NINON. 
Dear  mistress,  I  see  ze  rainbow  in  ze  shadow.     Superbe  ! 

BLUE  GRASS  [aside], 
I  've  been  too  long  a  shadow. 

WHETSTONE  [aside]. 
You  rascal,  make  yourself  shorter  ! 

BLUEGRASS. 

Black  slave  that  I  am,  thus  to  serve  this  merchant  prince 
of  merchandise  ! 

WHETSTONE. 

I  'm  a  solid  man,  and  my  shadow  lies  solid. 

NINON. 
Poor  shadow,  come  offze  cold,  cold  ground  ! 

BLUEGRASS  [sings  in  recitative,  and  WHETSTONE  accompanies 
with  pantomime]. 

The  shadow  is  slave  to  the  substance.  Who  can  separate 
them?  None.  Who  can  separate  them?  None,  —  none 
but  Ninon. 

VIOLET. 

Ninon,  't  is  marvellously  good,  —  but  we  must  go.  [Slowly 
going.]  Good-night  alike  to  substance  and  shadow.  Yet, 
stay  !  [Advancing.]  Didst  ever  study  arithmetic  ? 

154 


of  Cornville. 

BLUEGRASS  [sings  in  recitative,  and  WHETSTONE  accompanies 
with  pantomime]. 

Addition  I  have  at  my  finger-tips.  [Counting  notes  upon 
his  guitar.]  One,  two,  three,  four,  five.  Multiplication  I 
have  by  heart. 

WHETSTONE  [aside]. 
Throw  in  all  the  multiplication-table. 

BLUEGRASS  [sings  in  recitative,  and  WHETSTONE  accompanies 
with  pantomime] . 

Come,  come,  let  us  learn,  let  us  sing.  Come,  come,  let 
us  learn  the  multiplication-table.  Come,  let  us  sing  the 
multiplication-table. 

VIOLET. 

Thou  art  too  multitudinous,  and  wert  born  for  the  opera ; 
yet  I  will  give  thee  a  problem  that  thou  shalt  solve,  not 
with  thy  digits,  but  with  thy  pedals.  I  will  teach  thee 
subtraction,  and  separate  thy  shadow  from  thy  substance  by 
plane  trigonometry. 

WHETSTONE  [aside]. 
Major,  steady  !     Listen  for  the  click  of  the  trigger. 

VIOLET. 

A  triangle  is  a  sweet  instrument  in  the  mathematics  of 
love;  for  oft,  about  the  first  of  April  nights,  I've  watched 
the  merry  wild  geese  in  the  sky  flying  northward  in  musical 
and  far-sounding  triangles. 

155  ' 


The  Merchant  Prince 

WHETSTONE. 

I  know  them  well.     I   have  one  in  my  brass  band  in 

Cornville. 

VIOLET. 

And  yet  triangulation  by  moonlight  were  a  pleasant  death, 
betwixt  substance  and  shadow.  Ninon,  girl,  quick !  bring 
me  my  bronze-covered  trigonometry.  [Exit  NINON. 

WHETSTONE. 

Hold  on !  There  must  be  some  mistake  here.  Please 
don't  pull  any  trigger  on  us  ! 

BLUEGRASS  [aside]. 
And  make  angels  of  us  ! 

WHETSTONE. 
Hold  on,  Miss  Violet !     I  don't  want  to  be  an  angel  yet. 

VIOLET. 

There  's  no  fairer  weapon  than  a  book,  and  I  '11  make  no 
angel  of  thee. 

BLUEGRASS  [aside]. 

Let 's  cap  the  climax  and  capitulate. 

Re-enter  NINON,  with  book. 

NINON. 

Mistress  Violet,  here  is  ze  book. 

156 


of  Cornville. 

VIOLET. 

I  do  not  need  it  now.  My  memory  serves  me  as  well. 
Prince,  fear  not ;  trigonometry  is  a  peaceful  art  that  maids 
may  practice,  and  thou  beneath  my  patient  yoke  shalt  help 
me  draw  this  triangle.  One  side  thereof  shall  be  betwixt 
thy  stationed  shadow  and  myself,  another  'twixt  thy  shadow 
and  thyself,  and  the  base  side  thereof  shall  be  the  distance 
'twixt  thee  and  me,  —  whose  baseness  shall  increase  if  it 
decrease.  [Pauses. 

NINON. 
Kind  mistress,  wilt  thou  have  ze  book  ? 

VIOLET. 

No  book  can  help  me.  Now  do  I  pause  [pausing],  for  in 
this  triangle  one  angle  is  obtuse  and  two  acute  ;  but  my 
good  angel  shall  help  me.  'T  is  better  to  be  right  than  be 
acute ;  therefore  it  shall  be  a  right-angled  triangle.  [To 
WHETSTONE.]  Hence  move  you  backward  in  the  light. 
[WHETSTONE  moves  backward]  But  also  from  your  right. 
[He  moves  from  his  right.']  Ninon,  girl,  see,  the  shadow 
doth  not  follow ! 

BLUEGRASS. 
Now  from  this  angle  do  I  see  my  angel. 

NINON. 

I  know  ze  shadow,  ze  rainbow,  ze  major,  ze  grand  lover ! 

157 


The  Merchant  Prince 

VIOLET  [to  WHETSTONE,  who  has  moved  until  he  forms  a  right 
angle  with  BLUEGRASS  and  VIOLET]  . 

Move  no  further.  Thy  shadow  keeps  no  pace  with  thee, 
and  fear  might  well  oppress  a  wondering  maid  less  mathe- 
matical. Ninon,  take  and  reflect  upon  yon  shadow.  'T  is 
thy  sum  total,  and  a  happy  one. 

Enter  FOPDOODLE. 

FOPDOODLE. 

Dear  Miss  Violet,  I  'm  cured.  The  sheep's  blood  is  all 
out  of  me.  Pa  says  I  may  bring  you  home  with  me;  and 
Ma  says  I  am  a  lamb  with  a  golden  fleece,  but  I  must  not 
alarm  them  by  bleating  —  ba-bah.  I  have  been  badly  off — 
but  I  assure  you  I  am  shorn  of  my  malady.  There  is  no 
longer  any  impediment  of  speech  to  our  happiness.  Oh, 
how  I  want  to  be  a  noble  husband  !  Dear  Miss  Violet,  may 
I,  may  I  address  you  up  so  high,  and  I  down  so  low  ?  May 
I  ?  May  I  ? 

VIOLET. 

Thou  hast  too  many  Mays  in  thy  calendar,  but  thou 
mayst  have  a  cold  March  ere  thou  comest  to  a  timely  May. 

FOPDOODLE. 

Star  of  Violet,  come  down  to  the  earth.  No,  no.  O 
earth  of  black,  go  up  to  the  star  of  Violet.  Yes,  yes  ;  but 
the  earth  can't  do  it.  What  the  deuce  is  the  proper  thing  ? 
Well,  well- 

158 


of  Cornville. 

VIOLET. 

Thy  question  lies  at  bottom  of  a  well  too  deep  for  a  maid 
to  fathom,  looking  down  from  a  balcony. 

FOPDOODLE. 
Dear  Miss  Violet,  may  I  come  up  ? 

VIOLET. 
Thy  ardor  is  alarming  ! 

FOPDOODLE. 

Dear  Miss  Violet,  my  servant,  Tom,  has  a  ladder  waiting 
for  me,  and  I  will  climb  to  thee.  Don't  be  alarmed  j  I  am 
harmless,  O  dazzling  Violet ' 

VIOLET. 

Lovers  should  have  in  their  hearts  ladders  of  words  better 
than  any  made  with  hands.  Where  is  thy  ladder? 

FOPDOODLE. 

\_Calling  to  TOM,  around  the  corner]  Tom,  my  man,  bring 
your  master  love's  ladder. 

TOM. 
Good  master,  I  come. 

[ToM  enters  with  a  ladder  and  sets  it  against  the  wall. 

FOPDOODLE. 

Don't  let  it  slip  !    Tom,  my  man,  stand  firm.    [He  ascends. 

159 


The  Merchant  Prince 

TOM. 
I  obey,  good  master. 

BLUEGRASS  \jings  in  recitative  and  plays]. 

See!  see!  the  bold  burglar.  Help!  help!  He  ascends  ! 
he  ascends  ! 

FOPDOODLE  [halting']. 

I  —  I  —  I,  Augustus  Fopdoodle,  a  bad  burglar  man  !  I — I, 
the  son  of  my  father,  Fopdoodle  !  Pray,  sweet  Miss  Violet, 
who  are  those  rude,  bad  men? 

BLUEGRASS  [sings  in  recitative  and  plays]. 

We  are  a  triangle,  and  we  '11  make  a  parallelogram  of  you. 
We  are  —  we  are — an  accurate  right-angled  triangle,  and 
we  '11  make,  we  '11  make,  a  p-a-r —  par,  a-1  —  paral,  1-e-l  — 
parallel,  o  —  parallelo,  g-r-a-m  —  parallelogram  —  of  you. 

WHETSTONE. 
Get  down  off  the  ladder  ! 

FOPDOODLE. 

'T  is  the  voice  of  the  barbarian,  Whetstone,  —  my  animal 
noun,  my  enemy  ! 

Enter  JACK. 

JACK  [to  FOPDOODLE]. 

Put  the  ladder  back  in  the  garden  ! 

1 60 


of  Cornville. 

FOPDOODLE. 

Help  me,  good  Jack  ! 

[JACK,  takes  hold  of  ladder,  and  FOPDOODLE  tumbles 
from  it. 

FOPDOODLE  [rising], 

O  dazzling  Violet,  my  heart 's  in  ruins,  and  I  'm  turned 
down. 

[FOPDOODLE,  JACK,  and  TOM  move  a  short  distance  with 
ladder ;  when  TOM  holds,  and  FOPDOODLE  leans  upon  it. 

Enter  SCYTHE,  observing  no  one,  and  with  hand-net,  in  pursuit 
of  a  night-beetle  buzzing  in  the  air. 

SCYTHE. 

Where  flies  the  beetle,  I  pursue.  There,  I  hear  it  now  ! 
[The  buzz  of  a  flying  beetle  is  beard  J\  Lovely  night-beetle  ! 
Now  you  rise,  and  now  you  sink  in  curving  flight.  [He 
pursues,  listening,  til!  the  sound  ceases  J\  Now  you  've  rested  on 
a  night-blooming  flower,  and  I  '11  approach  more  softly  than 
lover  does  a  dreaming  maid,  nor  wake  with  rude-paced  step 
your  finer  sense  of  airy  motion.  [He  advances  cautiously  in 
search.] 

VIOLET. 

See,  Ninon ;  he  sees  no  one.  In  our  time  let  maids  be 
jealous.  Science  has  its  votaries  as  deeply  rapt  as  love's 
suitors. 

"  161 


The  Merchant  Prince 

SCYTHE  [stopping,  and  observing  the  beetle  on  a  flower}. 

What  a  rare  and  beautiful  specimen  for  the  Academy  ! 
Since  early  eve  I  've  followed  in  the  moonlight,  through 
gardens,  groves,  and  lawns.  Now  I  '11  capture  thee.  [He 
throws  his  net  over  the  flower,  but  the  beetle,  escaping,  flies  away 
with  a  buzzing  sound,  while  he  watches  its  course  through  his 
glass.]  'T  is  a  peerless  beetle,  with  wings  of  purple  filigreed 
with  gold  and  silver,  which  leave  in  sparkling  flight  a  trail 
of  light.  I  '11  follow  it  till  morning,  but  I  '11  capture  it. 

[Exit  SCYTHE  in  pursuit,  and  without  having  observed  any  one. 

VIOLET. 

Alack  !  few  lovers  are  so  ardent  in  their  pursuit,  and  some 
do  lag  most  grievously.  [To  NINON]  One  was  to  come 
to-night,  beneath  my  window,  whom  I  've  yet  not  seen. 

NINON. 

But  see,  my  mistress,  something  is  coming  up  ze  orchard 
path. 

VIOLET  [intently  observing]. 

'T  is  distant,  and  yet  't  is  bigger  than  a  man's  hand. 
Why,  Ninon,  'tis  a  man.  How  near  wouldst  thou  say  he 
is? 

NINON. 

Courage,  my  mistress !  he  has  ze  fleet  pace  of  ze 
lover. 

162 


of  Cornville. 

Enter  IDEAL. 
IDEAL. 

Dear  Violet,  in  hastening  by  the  orchard  path  to  meet 
thee  'neath  thy  window,  I  was  detained  by  thy  sweet  sisters 
of  the  field,  which  sprang  along  my  path  in  myriad  gayety, 
while  I  in  blissful  fantasy  did  win  them  ;  and  here,  accom- 
panied with  my  love,  I  tender  thee  this  bunch  of  golden- 
hearted  violets. 

VIOLET. 

Why,  't  is  my  Ideal !  I  '11  ne'er  forsake  thee  ;  for  were  I 
to  forsake  my  Ideal,  that  which  were  forsaken  were  better 
than  that  which  were  taken.  To  thee  I  '11  swift  descend, 
and,  descending,  I  '11  ascend.  [Exit  VIOLET. 

NINON  [following]. 

And  I  '11  descend  to  ze  grand  Major,  for  ze  willing  mis- 
tress makes  ze  willing  maid.  [Exit  NINON. 

WHETSTONE. 

Major,  I  'm  for  a  flank  movement.  We  're  in  the  heat  of 
battle.  Let's  head  them  off!  Let  us  on  !  She's  a  prize  ! 
She's  a  thoroughbred!  What  points  she  has!  See  the 
points  and  angles  she  gave  us.  She  's  worth  all !  [Enter 
VIOLET  and  NINON,  who  are  joined  by  IDEAL  and  BLUE- 
GRASS.]  She  must  not  escape  me ;  I  '11  throw  in  the  Eagle. 

BLUEGRASS. 
Hold  !     Not  the  Eagle. 

163 


The  Merchant  Prince 

WHETSTONE. 

The  bank,  the  steeple,  the  stores,  the  Academy,  my  farm 
on  Pearl  Creek, — all,  all,  everything,  —  but  I'll  have  her] 

NINON. 
Dear  Major,  save  ze  Eagle! 

BLUEGRASS. 
Fear  not ;  we  '11  always  share  ze  Eagle  between  us. 

NINON. 

Ze  grand  Major  will  not  share  ze  Eagle, —  cut  ze  fedders 

off? 

BLUEGRASS. 

Never,  my  child  of  innocence,  never!  We'll  have  one 
sparkling  hearthstone,  one  sprightly  boudoir,  one  full  pano- 
plied Eagle. 

NINON. 

Oui,  oui,  tres  joli !  charmant ! 

Enter  NORTHLAKE  and  CATHARINE. 

NORTHLAKE. 

Good  friends,  and  Mayor  Whetstone,  welcome  all ! 
It  is  a  happy  and  auspicious  time. 
This  day  the  turn  of  Fortune's  fickle  wheel 
Hath  brought  a  double  gift  of  joy  to  me. 
This  is  my  wife,  from  whom  I  was  estranged, — 
164 


of  Cornville. 

My  Catharine,  light  of  my  youthful  life,  — 
Now  reunited  by  a  tenderer  tie 
Than  held  our  earlier  years  of  wedded  love. 
And  this  same  day,  by  sudden  rise  of  stocks 
On  the  Exchange,  my  fortune  and  my  niece's 
Have  been  restored  to  us.     Swiftly  hath  flown 
The  time  since  when,  upon  a  troublous  day, 
Yon  Merchant  Prince  and  I  together  planned 
Without  her  leave,  as  men  too  oft  have  done, 
To  violate  a  gentle  maiden's  heart. 
But  she  by  maiden  wit  and  nimble  mirth 
Hath  warded  off  and  foiled  our  ruder  blows ; 
For  Nature  gives  to  helpless  maids  such  powers 
To  guard  their  hearts  as  are  undreamt  of  men. 
Let  us  be  glad  that  naught  but  harmless  mirth 
Hath  been  the  kind  result  of  deeper  plans. 
For,  friends,  good  mirth  is  better  than  fine  gold ; 
'T  is  Heaven's  mercy  shown  to  weary  man, 
And  falls  upon  the  heart  of  melancholy 
As  fall  refreshing  dews  on  earth  at  eve. 
And  as  in  sparkling  drops  of  crystal  dew 
Night-clouded  Earth  doth  clasp  the  light  of  stars, 
So  doth  the  heart  of  melancholy  catch, 
In  sparkling  laughter,  the  light  of  merry  hearts. 

WHETSTONE. 

Major,  now  for  my  revenge  !  Send  for  my  housekeeper, 
my  castle-keeper.  Order  Susan.  I  '11  celebrate  my  nuptials 
on  this  sea-girt  strand. 

165 


The  Merchant  Prince 

BLUEGRASS. 
Shall  I  order  the  nuptial  plumage  ? 

WHETSTONE. 
For  both.     At  once. 

Enter  PUNCH  with  garments  on  each  arm. 

PUNCH. 

Ladies  and  gentlemens,  I  have  some  beautiful  wedding 
garments. 

Enter  SCYTHE,  enthusiastically,  with  hand-net  and  beetle. 

SCYTHE. 
I  've  caught  the  beetle  !  [Exhibiting  a  large  beetle. 

WHETSTONE. 
Send  it  to  my  Cornville  Museum  ! 

NORTHLAKE. 

A  word  with  thee,  my  gallant  Mayor  Whetstone: 

There's  one  within,  who,  having  heard  afar 

Thy  strange  adventures  in  this  seaside  town, — 

Thy  loves,  thy  titles,  and  thy  masquerades, 

And  more  especially  thy  fearful  duel 

In  the  wood, —  instanter  boarded  cars  at  Cornville 

To  rescue  and  to  succor  thee  in  peril ; 

She's  here, —  she  waits,  —  and  now  she  doth  appear. 

He  opens  a  door  and  SUSAN  enters. 
166 


of  Cornville. 

WHETSTONE. 

Susan ! 

SUSAN. 
Hercules ! 

WHETSTONE. 
Dear  Susan ! 

SUSAN. 

Dear  Hercules  !  [They  embrace. 

WHETSTONE. 

Oh,  Susan ! 

SUSAN  [surveying  him]. 

Why,  Hercules,  how  you  've  changed  !  I  do  declare  ! 
your  clothes  are  full  of  wrinkles.  How  thin  you  've  grown  ! 
you  must  have  lost  twenty  pounds  !  I  must  make  you,  this 
very  night,  a  cup  of  my  elder-blossom  tea  ;  I  've  brought  the 
blossoms  with  me  [taking  package  from  pocket],  Hercules, 
can  it  be  that  yoa  would  have  forsaken  your  Susan? 

WHETSTONE. 
Why,  Susan  ! 

SUSAN. 
I  knew  it  could  never  be. 

WHETSTONE  [  petting  her] . 

That 's  right,  Susan  ;  we  '11  be  married.  Think  of  it, 
we  '11  be  married,  Susan  ! 

167 


The  Merchant  Prince. 

[Music.  POMPEY  and  HANNIBAL  open  doors  on  veranda, 
showing  dining-hall;  and  POMPEY  announces  that  din- 
ner is  served. 

NORTHLAKE. 

May  you  all  be  my  guests !  There 's  indoors  spread  a 
merry  cap-sheaf  to  this  mirthful  wooing.  Let  all  proceed 
within. 

VIOLET  [presenting  IDEAL]. 

Uncle,  my  Ideal. 

NORTHLAKE. 

Violet,  my  niece,  happy  art  thou  who  hast  for  real  thy 
Ideal. 

VIOLET  [persuasively]. 

Good  uncle,  thou  wilt  not  cut  down  the  tree  in  the 
orchard  ? 

NORTHLAKE. 
Nay,  't  will  bear  good  fruit  in  good  season. 

VIOLET  [to  the  company], 
A  philosophic  uncle,  and  a  kind  one. 


CURTAIN. 
168 


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